Sophistry on the Well-lit DeskAuthor(s): Lisa LewisSource: The Iowa Review, Vol. 14, No. 3 (Fall, 1984), p. 53Published by: University of IowaStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20156068 .

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istry on the Well-lit Desk Lisa Lewis

There's much to be said for this

Strolling at midnight, allowing The dog's strong neck to draw

A thread of energy through the leash,

Teasing me almost down to earth.

But the dog is more serious

Than I about this, his little

Workmanlike ears pinned back,

His little arhythmic breaths.

Here under the dormant trees

Is the finest place to be done

With life, to realize I've lived

Not too long, but too well, And not strictly in the mind.

I would've liked living strictly In the mind, outlasting

The black spot in the long tooth,

My long hairs adhering to my lips In the wind. I hate the wind,

And here I am outdoors.

I guess your stupid letter, the paper Ball under the couch for now, Enhanced the option. I have to

Laugh. This is justice: live

In the body and be brought to earth,

Suddenly made responsible for all

That flared up in the mind

And failed. Your letter said

You trust me, and for me to give up. You and the dog both trust me, And we're nearing the corner

Where we always turn for home.

The rest of life will be like this, Measured and somewhat arbitrary, With letters I don't like on the desk, And yellow lampshades tilted above them.

My response to your inquiry

Hangs from a string for the cats.

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