Death of Marilyn Monroe

Is a poem written by Sharon Olds. While many of her poems are far more elegant than this one, for me it has always been one of her most memorable.

Death of Marilyn Monroe

The ambulance men touched her cold
body, lifted it, heavy as iron,
onto the stretcher, tried to close
the mouth, closed the eyes, tied the
arms to the side, moved a caught
strand of hair, as if it mattered,
saw the shape of her breasts, flattened by
gravity, under the sheet,
carried her, as if it were she,
down the steps.

These men were never the same. They went out
afterwards, as they always did,
for a drink or two, but they could not meet
each other's eyes.

Their lives took
a turn—one had nightmares, strange
pains, impotence, depression. One did not
like his work, his wife looked
different, his kids. Even death
seemed different to him—a place where she
would be waiting,

and one found himself standing at night
in the doorway to a room of sleep, listening to a
woman breathing, just an ordinary
woman
breathing.

Do you enjoy the poem? Does it mean anything to you? I'd love to hear any impressions you might have. Incidentally I'm not really interested in scholarly interpretations, I'd like to know what it means to you, presuming that it strikes any sort of chord at all. This is the way poems are meant to be read, in my opinion, though thousands of stuffier individuals would love to disagree 🙂

More of her work HERE in the right hand sidebar. Look out for "True Love", it's a WONDERFUL poem.

hugs and love

capegirl