Saturday, October 01, 2016
The Sunday Poet: Linda Larson
I met a movie star once at a party.
She was quiet, mousy, almost invisible,
not a magnet of attraction.
Yet on the silver screen
her eyes were wild and her mouth
as luscious as a honeycomb.
Mother told me Bonnie and Clyde
were murdering thugs…
she ought to know,
she lived through the Depression
and read the newspapers of the day.
I miss her terribly.
There is a deep chill, a bone marrow of a chill, that sets in
when everyone you knew as a child is dead and lost forever.
Still the bright moving mosaic of the movies can
overpower one’s desolation and light fires in the cold
forgotten recesses of the human heart.