With scraps of food from dumpster-diving
sewer-salvaged in her rat-tailed hair
she crosses barefoot her deserted streets.
Scavenger on acid, she was
once a flower child, blessed before she
met the bearded man, who
saw her eyes in acid dreams, confirmed
her being one selected for
Afterwards she cannot comprehend
how helter-skeltered knives
could end their dreams in what’s spilled
and drawn on floors
and walls in Cielo Drive.
She seeks a thicket-place to hide and
listens to the mocking-bird above
retelling that the death and life are
just the same. And she
watches as the rise of sun draws
slips of tangerine; it paws
across her thighs, on scars of past;
finales in minor a;
tripped on psychedelic last.
Today Kelly wants us to write Narrative poetry, at dVerse. With the death of Harper Lee we are once again reminded of “How to Kill a Mockingbird”
“Mockingbirds don’t do one thing except make music for us to enjoy. They don’t eat up people’s gardens, don’t nest in corn cribs, they don’t do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That’s why it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.”
― Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird
If you can use a theme from the book and the mockingbird it’s a plus but not required. I have lately been listening to a long Podcast series about Charles Manson’s Hollywood. The story I’m telling is an imagined story of a less known (and unnamed) Manson Girl who was left to take care of herself after her “family” was broken up.
February 23, 2016