Erin Lambert House Under stakes or spell or what little is left beneath us in this house under troubles, under turbulence with child, our despairing lawn. The sameness of days that threads its sleep through car and chimney in silver and red; even simple songs no one thinks to sing, the breath in things for which no one listens, slumber in lotteries, faded blanket, whine of the dog left out too long. House under holds the same predictable banter of cloud to cloud over house above; both come clashing to spill through air like the one who left, who up and flew, who this far went and cannot say she's anytime returning. A recent interview with Erin Lambert is featured online in the current issue of Blackbird. Her poetry has also appeared or is forthcoming in Mudlark (Poster #44), The 2River View, and Fine Madness.