Poems by Lois Greene Stone

Soft Words at a Wall

Whisper. Sitting on a curved
bench in Philadelphia, my
daughter motioned from
the other end. Giddy from
earning her first undergrad
degree, this place was, she
said, a "don't miss".
Gallery waves, shape,
she educated me about
sound.
Stone felt hard and I
decided I'd whisper for
a cushion

Perception

Grey granite displayed
words etched
in upper-case letters.
Cold reminder of
my dad's name.
His presence is
still evoked from
a bar of lavender-
scented soap
which was the
fragrance of his
after-shave lotion.

(unspoken)

Was the metronome annoying as it
made sounds like a clock? It was
1921 and you were thirteen years
old preparing to slip onto a bench
in Carnegie Hall and perform a
piano piece. You told me of
horse-drawn carriages, and
gaslights, and widows making
powder puffs to earn a living.
Why didn't you share your
feelings about a solo concert?