Anchor

The poems of Anchor enter your consciousness like "warm summer air/ eased through the open window," in a poem about two young girls, a ouija board, and a voice from beyond. Everything in these deeply humane poems—water, air, fire, people—is invested with life, and layered with death. In fall, smoke from burning leaves is "like memories of something lost, something that stings the eyes." Photographed lying on the sand with his "little rump in the air," is a drowned refugee toddler to whom the water "meant to be/peaceful, like a mother's hand." Lewis draws surfaces beautifully, and lets you feel the mystery behind every surface. Alicia Ostriker, author of The Volcano and After: Selected and New Poems 2002-2019 New York State Poet, 2018-2021