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