Email Poem

Your IP Address: 216.73.216.26
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
Sybil Madison
	(her stage name)
	And Bernie Dodds
	(real name)
	Weren’t nobodies.
	She had been in pictures,
	He directed 
	And wrote a few.
	You remember-
	Those great lines in
	Down In The Trenches
	And she- that look she gave Cary.

	They live high in a palm tree,
	In its crown,
	Just south of Franklin,
	On Bronson.
	Been there for years.
	One day he helped her chase away the wild parrots
	And never left.
	They hold hands
	Every sunset
	And wander over their memories
	Looking down at the studios,
	Mysteriously quiet from above.

	Nothing’s changed, 
	She says.
	Everything’s changed,
	He says.
	
	When they plan to go out
	She always asks him-
	What do I wear?
	Wear yourself.
	You look beautiful.
	I feel beautiful.

	And he-
	I just want to sit at the Brown Derby,
	Maybe with Willie.
	And she-
	I thought Willie was up here,
	Above McCadden maybe.
	Or Normandie, maybe.
	I loved the Brown Derby, too.
	The new one-
         (You didn’t see it.)

	And he-
	If you’d been Jewish 
	We could have been together.
	Shh dear. Is that the Santa Ana wind coming?
	We are together.
	Where are you again?
	Over near Marilyn, he says,
	Village Memorial,
	On the ground, not like her,
	In one of those damn drawers.
	I know, she says,
	I was there. Nice service.
	And you, he asks her again, like couples do.
	I still forget. Golly.
	It was all a blur.
	Like in a movie.
	Kinda.
	Or when the film breaks.
	You know.
	Never mind, he says.
	It hardly matters now.
	
	This night the wind is wonderful, warm
	And they sway together, car lights fanning streets safely below.
	There! A fire truck- 
        And somewhere near Fountain- the tiny flickering fire.

          They look north.
          It is darker and there is only one-
         The tallest palm for miles.
          It is moving like a wand,
          Pushed by the Santa Anas.
          It is solitary, grand, lonely.

          She spots him first.
          I think I remember him!
         Don’t stare, he says.
         What was that picture?
         The one with the horse,
         The horse, the horse
         And the lady, red hair
         I think.
         Oh, he seems alone.
         And he-
         He must have been big,
         To be up there by Bronson Canyon.
         
         Yeah, she says,
         Moving closer to him
         In the complete warmth of the high swirling air,
         The fronds all around them dancing and bowing.
         He must have been big.
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required