*Poem: "Kimmie and That Dress"

  

Kimmie and That Dress

 

‘How did she fit her big, fat, luscious ass

into that slender beam of history?’ I thought.

She says it took a crash, 16 pounds, real suffering

to get it on, and even then she only rode

the red carpet, no stairs, no wine,

Met Gala first, a piece of Marilyn in the house.

And first it felt like violating a sacred relic,

as if some Fifteen Minute Diva nailed

a saint’s shriveled limb to her breast,

or conned the Smithsonian into loaning

Ruby Slippers for a night on the town.

 

Then, I tried to imagine how Marilyn would feel,

so close to the end, however it came,

on the outs with her studio, lingering flu

or worse, standing for fittings in this wonderful

sculpture cut to her exact frame. Legend has it

she was sewn into it, probably no access

to toilet or chair, but in those Garden lights,

her hair glowed cotton candy, her voice

its natural state of breathless romance.

Was it for John or Bobby? Publicity stunt to

get the fans back on her side?

 

This dress, six-thousand crystals,

illusion of nudity, hearkens back to her early days

of calendar poses, was among her mortal effects

when she died naked, found by the housekeeper,

bottle of pills that may or may not have been the cause. 

She favored Pucci in those last days, 

not the gowns we like to imagine her in,

Pucci and cozy sweaters, champagne, 

her new Mexican house barely furnished.

 

She lived like an orphan, though technically not one,

like someone who’d packed and unpacked her whole life. 

A few books, a ring from Joe, diamond missing,

and this dress, still warm from New York’s hot lights.

Whose hands snipped the threads that released her?

Was it folded neatly? Tossed in a corner with a sigh?

Did she crawl into bed, alone or not, pull sheets

tight around her storied body, drift off, we hope, to sleep?

 

What Would Marilyn Do about Kimmie’s performance?

I think she might wish her well, that dress, that song

having done her little good. It is bold to think for Marilyn at all. 

Back to the freak show the dress goes, another night in its history,

Ripley himself grinning from beyond at all the publicity,

Marilyn rolling over, plumping the pillow,

stardust falling from the ceiling.

 

 CAR   5/3/22