HOLLYWOODLAND

(A poem for Peg Entwistle)

Who's to say when enough was enough.
Was it the disappointment of the many days
Getting all dolled up for casting calls that left you
Standing against the wall, like an eager girl
At a formal dance who's never asked to;
Waiting by the phone for a studio to call
Like some girl stuck home on a Saturday night;
Watching with dismay as most of your scenes
From the one movie you landed a part in
Ended up as trash on the cutting room floor.

When Bette Davis watched you play Ibsen's Hedvig,
She credited her youthful admiration of you
In that role to her desire to become an actress.
Movies though, were where the real glamour was.
Dazzling fireworks of exploding flashbulbs,
Leading ladies in their body-hugging gowns
Emerging from limos, savoring the red carpet
Excitement of their movie premieres.
Grand epics of romance filmed on backlots
Of plywood facades, kingdoms of illusion.

Every girl dreams of becoming a princess,
Or a Star.  The ones with talent and the look
Need luck as well.  Elizabeth Short had none,
Achieving fame only in her gruesome death,
As did Virginia Rappe, Arbuckle's victim.
Their tragedies churned headlines, as did yours.
Your disillusion drove you to climb to the top
Of a landmark letter on the Tinseltown hillside,
From which you jumped, unaware of the offer
Of a lead role that had been mailed to you.

Your body lay shattered at the base of the "H,"
A lifeless blonde-haired, blue-eyed doll
Without a name, just the initials "P. E."
On the note that finally led your uncle to you.
Hollywoodland is a cruel town still, Peg.
Casting couch lizards seduce with promises,
Booze and drugs, then abandon you for fresh prey.
Innocence hardens to toughness too quickly.
Perhaps you let go of your dream too soon, Peg,
But what of we who've clung to ours for too long?

Those of us who jealously hug our dreams
Should erect a monument on your unmarked grave,
Perhaps a kneeling angel with drooping wings,
Its anguished face gazing up at the sky
As if to question God, or implore his forgiveness.
Let your gravesite become the place of pilgrimage
Where we can bring our unattainable goals,
Unaccomplished deeds and unfufilled desires,
Those wilted bouquets that flowered in our youth,
To lay them down before you as we let go of them.