In Sunday Houses the Sunday House, Elizabeth Hughey embraces the possibility that we can learn as much from objects as we can from other people, from the inanimate as much as the animate. Each poem descends upon a place and a time, takes a few notes, and then leaves quietly without slamming any doors. Sunday Houses the Sunday House reveals what the world is like when your attention is focused elsewhere, when your head is turned the other way.

In ineffably beautiful verse, Hughey captures moments in time and place with confidence but without being judgmental. Although it may seem that the scope of these poems is rather small—a good party, a couple of eggs, a housekeeper's daydream—they reveal both a deep intelligence and a spirit of whimsy. Gertrude Stein wrote that she wanted to be "drunk with nouns," and in a sense that is what Hughey has accomplished here.

Sunday Houses the Sunday House

Who spent the night for church the next day.
Stay Fredericksburg. Every room opens
To Kathy. The heart from homestead.
The map to go too far. Says Sunday house.
Says womanly opposite. Says glass armchair.
I’d like to cover the whole thing with rhinestone.
The guest downstairs, unframed, whose
Background is reflected in the silver.
Make the bed as Victorian as a stack of soap.
Brick house adding fragrance to the mint.