MARIA MAZZIOTTI GILLAN
SOMETHING I ALWAYS WANTED BUT DIDN’T
GET
In darkened movie theaters, I watched the people
I
wished I were, longed for blond-haired Tab Hunter,
the
clear, clean lines of his face, the chiseled
American
features, the bright blue of his eyes.
I
wanted to be Doris Day, her delicate bones,
her
small unobtrusive nose, her perfect profile.
How I wanted to be these people, to put on their lives
like
an expensive dress, to walk in their soft leather shoes,
to
wear their skins, their assured voices,
their
big, happy houses,
and in my longing, I learned to hate my own reflection
in
the glass, to know I was all wrong, always would be,
never
could become the glamorous people
who
pranced their magic lives across that silver screen.
