Jane Morris
her
quick
learning
and beauty
lasted to old age
moving from model to crafter
pianist, wife of a man she did not love, mother
she became guinevere who she modeled for rossetti, her once and future lover
marriage and wit safely cemented place in upper class circles she eclipsed her birth
proserpine and pygmalion brown hair never
painted holding poppies—she shaped
her mind and self the
medium—
she grasped
it
all
