Stone Woman

By Bernadette Gabay Dyer

A collection of new poems. Authored by a singular, mature, multi-talented, unique voice, equally compelling in prose, poetry and oral storytelling. BERNADETTE GABAY Dyer's reputation has grown considerably in the Caribbean, Canada, the US and the UK. Stone Woman is the newest collection of Poems by Dyer. "Bernadette Dyer is a folk singer of the Caribbean and a weaver of fantastic, moral and spellbinding tales. Her words induct and seduce, instruct and soothe. Elementary in style, but philosophical in subject, she be Miss Lou at song and Aesop at the story telling. To open her books is to be enlightened, and one closes them knowing one has been refreshed and improved." -George Elliott Clarke, internationally renowned poet, Parliamentary Poet Laureate of Canada"...a wonderful collection of stories that have common universal themes in a multicultural context. The themes of love, identity, tradition versus modern beliefs are woven well in stories... with unpredictable endings." - Karen Lemmons, Goodreads book reviewer

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mosaic Press
• Release date: Jan 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9781771616188

Book preview

Love Spell

Fearing the sound of your

Retreating footsteps,

I have tied your secret name

Into seventeen knots in string,

Each to bind your heart

With a blessing,

So that goodbyes will not

Trigger sorrowful echoes in the hall,

Echoes to outrun dreams

Like wild birds in flight

Awakening swarms of moths

That swoop from under night’s hill,

To thrill against the needle

I placed through the red candlewick

That now glows in agonizing flames

To pierce

Your heart.

Kitchen Solitaire

I will not find you

In that house on Delaware

For its doors are barred and windows bolstered

Against intruders and the cold,

It is a lonely place now,

Drafts seep and sigh along the hardwood floors

And the kitchen where I once marveled at your practiced hands

Creating cuisines savory and spicy

Has become a place of solitude.

Tiles are curled and paint blistered,

Herbs abandoned hang from rafters on the ceiling,

Only silence lives there.

Blackened kettles and crusted pots

Wait in dank humidity

In corners where once I