a set of crushed and grease-
impregnated wickerwork;
on the wicker sofa
a dirty dog, quite comfy.

(Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979), U.S. poet. Filling Station (l. 17-20). . . The Complete Poems, 1927-1979 [Elizabeth Bishop]. (1983) Farrar, Straus and Giroux.)

Arthur was very small.
He was all white, like a doll
that hadn't been painted yet.

(Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979), U.S. poet. First Death in Nova Scotia (l. 31-33). . . The Complete Poems, 1927-1979 [Elizabeth Bishop]. (1983) Farrar, Straus and Giroux.)

black, naked women with necks
wound round and round with wire
like the necks of light blubs,
Their breasts were horrifying.

(Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979), U.S. poet. In the Waiting Room (l. 28-31). . . The Complete Poems, 1927-1979 [Elizabeth Bishop]. (1983) Farrar, Straus and Giroux.)

Remembering the Strait of Belle Isle or
some northerly harbor of Labrador,
before he became a schoolteacher
a great-uncle painted a big picture.

(Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979), U.S. poet. Large Bad Picture (l. 1-4). . . The Complete Poems, 1927-1979 [Elizabeth Bishop]. (1983) Farrar, Straus and Giroux.)

Always the silence, the gesture, the specks of birds
suspended on invisible threads above the Site,

(Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979), U.S. poet. Over Two Thousand Illustrations and a Complete Concordance (l. 17-18). . . The Complete Poems, 1927-1979 [Elizabeth Bishop]. (1983) Farrar, Straus and Giroux.)

Should we have stayed at home and thought of here?
Where should we be today?
Is it right to be watching strangers in a play
in this strangest of theatres?

(Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979), U.S. poet. "Questions of Travel," Questions of Travel (1965). Bishop, an avid traveler, spent the last 16 years of her life in Brazil.)

his shuddering insights, beyond his control,
touching him. But it took him a long time
finally to make his mind up to go home.

(Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979), U.S. poet. The Prodigal (l. 26-28). . . The Complete Poems, 1927-1979 [Elizabeth Bishop]. (1983) Farrar, Straus and Giroux.)

The pigs stuck out their little feet and snored.

(Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979), U.S. poet. The Prodigal (l. 21). . . The Complete Poems, 1927-1979 [Elizabeth Bishop]. (1983) Farrar, Straus and Giroux.)

The strong sunlight, the wind from the sea,
all the conditions of its existence,
may have flaked off the paint, if ever it was painted,
and made it homelier than it was.

(Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979), U.S. poet. The Monument (l. 50-53). . . The Complete Poems, 1927-1979 [Elizabeth Bishop]. (1983) Farrar, Straus and Giroux.)

They shifted a little, but not
to return my stare.

(Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979), U.S. poet. The Fish (l. 41-42). . . The Complete Poems, 1927-1979 [Elizabeth Bishop]. (1983) Farrar, Straus and Giroux.)