4-18-24
Added 2024-05-07 17:00:07 +0000 UTCMy name is a eulogy; isn’t that right?
It sticks and it starts to boil, but doesn’t
Overflow; like her life, like mine, like ours
Connie Francis
won Arthur Godfrey’s Talent Scouts at 14,
Right here in New York City
And Patricia? Oh she got married;
haven’t you heard?
19 years old! and to a sailor!
He’s from New York, he’ll take her there.
The jury’s not out for Trisha, you’ll see.
But in 1969 Judy died, and
I guess that was the start of the decline
You couldn’t have it all, could you
And I remember the tea, poured into mugs
And sipped delicately, looking out the window
Thinking of when the leaves would turn
Orange again, and red again, and yellow
And she poured milk and sugar and tea into a
Smaller cup, for her grandson,
The one who sang and danced for her,
Who idolized her pearls and her furs
And her blonde pageboy wig she wore
Just for fun
But the ache is real too, and lately
I think what if I just started telling
People I lost a parent,
Wouldn’t that still be true?
What is a parent and is it the one who birthed you? Or is it the one who gave you life?
What’s the difference? What if it’s the one
Who gave up her life,
So that you could be here? What if?
When Patricia died there was no fanfare,
There was no obituary, no big Hollywood funeral, no parade of roses and daffodils thrown against the hood of the car,
No veils over the faces; Jackie Kennedy
No one knew. But I knew. I knew.
And my eulogy goes like this;
It’s in all the photos I make, and every detail I slip in that’s a part of her
Every costume jewelry earring,
And every glove and hat and string of pearls
It’s the bandana and her doll;
It’s her polyester ball gown; draped against the body
Of the aging starlet; it’s all of that
And she’d risk me, and she told me that,
But what she really risked was her own life,
And she cried and I didn’t call, and I should have called,
All the goings on down there,
In Brooklyn,
With your Kodak,
And I don’t mean a camera
Bye bye for now, darlin boy
Every night she dances on that stage,
And every night there is a standing ovation;
For Trisha has come home at last
