Lewis Horne

Vision of an Older Faith

Car window turned to shale from sun 
burst, the car parked some summer 
Sunday there before the church 
house. Voices sing: “Spirit 

Zina’s Version

Zina thought: Ha, what now? She peered through her front door window at the old man crossing Lizzy’s backyard. He was skinny as a bunch of sticks, splotchy, and wrinkled as a raisin. His hair…

The Youngest Daughter’s Tale

Three of them are older. None 
Grew bold enough in tone and manner 
To carry her executive airs. 

Double Exposure

The picture gathers from a host of things— 
From giggles of remembering, not play 
By play but one word lifting from another 
Into a rearview record, a happy weather 

Basic Training

We were like filings, lifted straight 
As though a magnet stiffened up 
Our figures like the hair upon 
Our closely cropped skulls. But we, 

She and He: Alternatives

—Or on summer evenings as the sky 
Draws down its light, prodding the question why 

They sit in cast-off wicker furniture, 
The kids cross-legged as though the lawn made a shore

Fashion Show

Did she think, “Depression,” 
            As banks collapsed, 
Men took to the road, farms 
            Reclaimed and lost? 

The By-pass

If I looked up the road from the irrigation ditch, I could see the church house bumping stiff and dark against the sunset’s blaze. “The old church house/’ people called it now. “The old churchhouse,”…

Water Will

Childhood Homes