I resisted posting this because I’d already circulated it a bit, and some poet friends had lately been “de-blogging” since a number of journals frown on such entries as “previously published works.” This is nothing new, but I’ve never considered myself a dedicated poet and I won’t be able to sleep until I do this, even if it is the day after her birthday.
In 1953, Alfred Eisenstadt shot the timeless photos of Marilyn Monroe at home for LIFE Magazine. Despite the pure magic of those images, by today’s standards Ms. Monroe would be passed over by the casting agents and be advised to “augment” her looks by any means necessary. Personally, I would rather have one much imperfect Marilyn than thousands of selfie-validated, booty-praised and perfectly ’shopped faces that glow in the fading stream of Snapchats.
Light. Time. Breath. Without them our memories mean nothing.
I knew my kingdom, not on any map
‘Twas there sitting on Eisenstadt’s lap
Focus, depth, infinity’s mile
He never asked me once to smile