Maureen

Maureen
she waits languidly on the top stair
a delicate smile for the final clicks of the paparazzi
a golden cigarette holder between her slim fingers
nails painted red, redder than blood
her black chiffon gown flowing in the gentle evening breeze
the air perfumed by the lilac of her eyes

it was thus that I remembered her, she was illumination
that evening before she was caught in the maelstrom
yet some glimpsed the sadness under her flowing eyelashes
others heard less melody in her voice as she signed
the last autographs, her ivory hand slightly trembling
later the beautiful people would whisper secrets
invented fantasies about lavish parties and unpardonable
betrayal — impossible loves — but all spoke carefully
of her mysterious death bathed a sense of thespian dread
nails painted red, redder than the blood
overflowing from her broken heart, caught by
the final clicks of the paparazzi
while she waited at the top of the ultimate staircase
Maureen…



Maureen...
[2008.4.4…a]
N-E N° 31