A waitress finds her
wailing and convulsing
‘midst porcelain and tile.
A fighter, she held on
‘til methadone prevailed.
Her history scares
couples wanting to adopt.
She grows up wandering
in a forest of fosters.
When she’s thirteen,
a man sneaks into her room,
puts his hand over her mouth.
She takes to the streets,
her body her coin.
Robbed of innocence
too soon, the child
leaves her own behind
at a storefront.
Tempting fate once
too often,
she imagines floating
high above rooftops
and rickety fire escapes.
She crashes so hard,
the earth’s axis tilts,
imperceptible but real.
Like her life.
(end)
(Image provided by DWB)
Saragun Springs 
Really powerful and dreadfully sad. dd
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Thank you, Diane. I’m glad you like the poem.
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David
I chose Marilyn (by DWB) for the header because every little society has one. The MM of the bar, the MM of the clinic, the MM who holds three guys in a time in her orbit.
The center of your poem is her own MM. A natural resource/tragedy begging/refusing to be used as she uses. It is a crazy and complicated world we run, no wonder the Vulcans avoid us.
You really write well and have a wide range.
Leila
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Hi, Leila. That’s a thoughtful and excellent choice for the header image. Thanks for publishing this poem and for the kind words.
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Gritty, and sad, with great images. A full story told in just a few perfect words. Reminds me of how Carver can get the action going in a sentence or two. “her body her coin.” That’s a rough landing… Impressive!
Haunting Photo, I just started “Blonde” by J.C.Oates.
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Thank you! Glad you like the imagery, and I appreciate your highlighting that line.
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David
Leila is absolutely right, Marilyn is not just Marilyn, she is also all the other Marilyns who exist and are Marilyn in their own mind and for their own world, when they both do, and do not, know it. Even among the “lowliest” street people, Marilyns exist, and possibly there more than almost anywhere else. This is the NUMBER ONE REASON why Marilyn is so widely known: because she’s not really herself (any more), she’s a million (and more) other people. (The same could be said of Joan, as in Crawford. And like with Marilyn, the men started jumping on her, or trying to, very, very early.)
This poem shows an incredible sense of realistic characterization and humane sympathy that go beyond the bounds of normal writing (beyond “the usual” in other words). Not a single word is wasted and in a handful of words you manage to present an entire life. The selection of this subject alone shows humanity and then you managed to fulfill (or reach) the goal artistically. Great job.
NELSON ALGREN, that brilliant Chicago underdog writer about underdogs, would love this poem!
Dale
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Thank you, Dale. As you said, Marilyn wasn’t / isn’t “just herself,” and that’s what I was going for with regards to the girl in this piece.
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David
How much you were able to pack into such a small space is really (I believe) what makes this a poem. Real poems have zero room for loose or unnecessary language – and there isn’t any in this. Hemingway would be proud. He would also approve of the subject matter, and the attitude toward that subject matter.
Dale
PS
The vast majority of academic poems these days (the work that fills the academic literary journals) are made up of nothing but loose and unnecessary language…Thank God for Saragun Springs!
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Thanks again, Dale. Yes, academic poems do some impressive language gymnastics but often leave me cold. Glad we have Saragun Springs, where we can enjoy and share a different approach.
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