“Miss Calif. 1944” by L.K. Thayer
she lies there, her mouth gaping open like a baby bird
not wanting to eat but waiting to grasp death
her body heaves every morsel of sustenance up
she is aching to leave the nowness
she is a ghost of herself
a white corpse that they keep plugged in
sucking up her insurance
stuck in a barbed wire nest
the baby bird wants to fly to heaven
she is in between, no strength to scream
no more words, no more coffee, no more cigarettes
no more television or snickers bars,
she just wants ginger ale.
Shadow, Shadow, Shadow, she cries for her cat
misses him more than her dead husband
let her go. Why can’t they just let her go?
I kiss her forehead. she says my skin is soft,
I say so is hers. I tell her it’s alright to go now.
no more beauty pageants, no more titles, coke
or Frank Sinatra, no more bowling trophies
or casting calls, no more rejection. let her go
her life hurts of emptiness, she can’t swallow it any more
Blanche Dubois without the streetcar and no desire
on her lips, let her go…
she’s been there and done this and that,
smoked crack, she doesn’t want her life back,
take her off life support, she is coming up short,
if I could assist her suicide I would,
have mercy on her, we do it for animals,
but we let people suffer,
how cruel to let her lie in her waste and wallow.
It kills me to see her wither. Her voice once so deep
barely a whisper, now only a skeleton of her former self
my BFF, my darling neighbor, Miss CA. 1944.
no more tiaras, no more crowns, no more L.A. Times
off with her head, let the red queen go,
gently into that good night, please,
tuck her in
she has written her last poem…
her last rhyme
Shadow, Shadow, Shadow
it’s dinner time
(“Shadow & the apple” photo by L.K. Thayer)
© 2012