Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
spysgrandsonPoems
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 seemed 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”
0
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 11:09 AM UTC
I kissed Vivien Leigh
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 seemed 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”
spysgrandson
Written by
spysgrandson
American
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 11:09 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem