i.m. Sarah’s mum

Stella hailed from startleland,
uneven terrain was welcomed.
She’d entertain with the intimate habits
of the stag beetle, probe my knowledge
of ‘Cargador de Flores’ by Diego Rivera,
demand to be spoken to in French.

La vedette made the everyday
into theatre. Did I mention
the Lalique obsession and the birdsong clock?
She looked out onto her Dali-esque garden,
refused to see the watery moon,
her eyes forever fixed on the silver feather tree.