well not really… though I told
every grinning green Catholic soul
at my school I did that and more
I did smell the wine on her breath
and watch her trip into the trailer
her gown hitting the floor
before she closed the door
her body as white as the fake snow
spitting onto the set, and
as cold perhaps
I was sixteen and she was fifty one
this was my one and only, her last,
flick, not fling, though I would have
cut off an arm for it to have been so
not the arm she touched
in our one immortal scene together…
her electric hand,
all the blond hairs on my forearm standing at attention
me wondering if the camera caught
their helpless vertical veer
it mattered not, most of the scene
landed not on the screen, but
the cutting room floor, my two lines slashed to one
my 48 seconds with her shaved to 22
I did not cry when I heard she died,
twenty months later, but my lie seem soiled
once she was in the ground
I confessed to Father Ryan
he was silent when
I asked what to tell
the fools who believed
the dying star lay with me
simply because she said,
“Call me Vivien, not Ms Leigh”
I curse the night I meet you.
I curse the night my eyes locked deep into your golden/brown skin & crimson red lips.
I curse the drug that draped my mind in lust, in confidence, to merely utter
I curse that sentmental longing of the sound of your voice again.
And the subtle approach towards my deviant nature.
Accept this call...
In need of repair
String the pieces
He sits on the edge
Of a well worn seat
Concerns on the ledge
Extend your pen,
We devour his table
Lick clean our plates
Guilty are we
Who are WE!
That we Expect!!
THAT…… we….. Expect!
Turn the page...
With words direct.
With outstretched arms
Convey with words
WE have been THERE
We ARE HERE!
So lend of yourself
I have many flaws you see
But none could ever compare
To how my eyes perceive myself;
A broken toy beyond repair
My greatest flaw-- it tops them all!--
Is that I'm never good enough
Not for my mother, nor for me
Nor for the boy that stole my love
And yet he says I'm always beautiful
He tells me I'm the only girl for him
But still I cannot bring myself
To believe a single word he's saying
~ ~ ~
Been trying so hard, You make it harder,
Been crying for too long, how do you do this?
I try and I try to remind you of me,
But it's all vain, your stoic.
Why is my heart so soft?
For every wrong you do, it makes it right.
I'm tired, bruised and wounded,
But your words are like my bandage,
Gentle at times, but not too often,
For it's your words that leave me battered but still,
I think about you, dream about you.
Now as a tear roles down my cheek,
I'm used to that sensation,
For every tear has something to say,
This last one just asked me, "Will he ever see me again?"
Waiting for you words, I'm used to that too,
But once, just once is all I ask for,
That you say to me, conscious and sub conscious,
That you miss me too.
I built a sand castle around myself
I spend hours on each intricate detail
I built the castle the way I dreamed as a child
I made sure it had all those hidden doors
The ones that weave intermittently from one wing to the next
In the tunnels are where I lose myself with my imagination
The castle keeps me safe from the bad guys
I always have a place to hide within these walls
As I lug myself about crawling on my knees
I drag a life time of sorrows worries and needs
They come in journals
Those hard backed limited editions
The beautiful ones you get scared to write in
Because you don't want to damage their perfection
You pick them up from the second hand book store
The Strand on corner of East 12th Street
You, your journal and months worth of reading
You walk into Books of Wonder
From the days you were read to at night as a child
I always believed that stories last a life time
That even in those worn down books
Oh those beautiful ones where you find a love letter
From decades ago
And you carry that book and pass over
The $2 and the stories live on
And the stories of those who bought the book live on
My castle was built with my fair hands
It's weathered almost all storms
I let no one in and it wasn't until
The day that I did
That the ocean of emotion I carried within
Flooded out and drowned us all
Me, those innocent characters and the books
The precious precious books, soaked and blurred
Out to sea we went
© Sia Jane
“We read to know that we are not alone.”
i. "Why did the number of parking tickets spike
when Persephone was carried off to the underworld?
Demeter wasn't working."
She liked greek mythology puns.
It was a good thing I was creative.
ii. Truth or Dare, I asked her what
was the best decision she's ever made.
she answered with, "In 7th grade I named my puppy Achilles,
so when I saw him I could say, 'Achilles, heel!'"
iii. It took me two weeks to realise that
when we held hands, I wasn't really
holding her hand, but a chainsaw,
ready to slash through anything that stood in our way like
Hercules chopping off the Hydra's head.
I was immortal.
iv. August eleventh; 9 PM
we watched for the meteor shower.
I connected the freckles splayed upon her knee,
told her they looked like the constellation of Cassiopeia.
"Be Sirius" she jested.
v. She had a bad habit
of smoking at the beach and I
Wondered if she knew that with
every single flick of ash into the water,
Poseidon was cursing her to the River Styx.
vi. Headaches visited her often, I joked that
maybe she was getting ready to birth
a Goddess from her cranium. She
did not find it clever.
vii. You could say we became like Aphrodite and
Hephaestus. I, longing for her. She,
lusting after another. A synonym for her
headaches would be me.
viii. Apparently if you hack off a Hydra head, two
would grow to replace it. Knowing this sooner
probably would have saved me from numerous
amounts of Kleenex and chocolate.
ix. She left me a note on the dresser,
"Fun fact: Medusa's favourite cheese was
Gorgon-zola. PS - you remind me
of Medusa, please remember to brush your hair."
She reminds of Medusa as well, I do not doubt that if we
meet again, her eyes would still turn me into