Gertrude Stein – a memoir

Behind these mortal bones
           a beating heart
a nicety and a name
           and an ear to the ground
She knew the purr of love
           and all the finesse of needlework
hers truly was a wonderland
           in which words came to dine
wore a shawl with assorted hats
           and sat in Picasso’s frame

Suppose the eyes saw
           the lips would tell
and the hand would carve
           snippets of silence
the bed linen spick and span
           and time at the window
looking on
           with mathematical delight

See she said
           see how the light curls
how it drips into darkness
           at the end of the day
and nightime
           is a small price to pay
for a loving tongue
           and a cup to drain
Poetry she said
           is just lines of words
that start and then stop
           stop and start

John Lyons