Marilyn's Escape Act

Marilyn's Escape Act

Thanks to Gloria

New York was a terror, a terror of wonder.
Sick of being the bombshell, the punchline,
I needed it to grow, to be taken seriously,
show I could--couldn't I--act my way out.
Almost from the beginning
I was somebody else, &; frightened by the design,
the control it took, until the role sort of took over:
that incandescent vulnerability weighing me down.
Stepping into Cordelia, Anna Christie, the Rain
of Sadie Thompson, perhaps I could learn
to re-make my breathing, how I walked,
&; last through great drama, or at least
as a character player.
I knew it would be difficult,
fear, my old insecurities, sitting
on each shoulder, whispering:
you never finished high school,
you have a goose head,
you belong the way hand-me-downs
belong, rank, leftover, the laundry
that no one willingly claims.
Still, I had to try, sitting at the back of the class,
not a total rag bag in (for luck) high buttoned whites,
a scarf hiding blonde &; trying not to speak, reveal
this body, this body which always
shows so much anyhow.
Anyhow, I changed, became for awhile exactly who
I worked on, my own self anonymous, though the lungs
had such tantrums &; I sweated cold bullets
even as acceptance came.
Sometimes, during the day, I also visited a park, loved
being around children, &; not a soul disturbed me
or asked for an autograph after I took off my sun glasses.
Kindness is the strangest thing, kindness
a bond, though I felt so awfully estranged, grateful
to the other women who just let me watch, holding
a son or a daughter.

Being ordinairy was nice.
Being ordinairy's extraordinairy,
the thought of being liked for your own sake,
for your heart. Of course
Aunt Ana taught and gave me that.
Aunt Ana &; later, here &; there,
I'd catch the same sensation for a few minutes,
even with Jack, with Bobby.
Happy Birthday Mr. President--
I'm the little engine that could
singing to you in this soul that's a dress
sewn together with pills, champagne, the theme
of a children's book. Your candles seem
magical, yet misty, desperate,
like the inside of my head. Yes,
I've forgotten to eat again, forgotten--
what was it--the lines, the delays, take
one, take one thousand bright bulbs
popping Something's Gotta Give the flairs
of politics of the studio's firing I can not
fade Remember Sadie Remem--
Wait.
Rest first.
Just a second.
Quiet
on the set.