ManicDDaily

One more poem came to mind when thinking of the Roman Polanski affair, a villanelle.  This is not one of my best villanelles!  (Sorry–check out prior villanelle posts.)   But I hope you find it interesting in light of the current debate.

This follows the basic villanelle format, though there is some slight variation in the repeated lines.  (Again, see prior posts on villanelles both for a rundown of the form, as well as for a discussion of the virtues of cheating in writing any formal verse.)

As always in my poetry,  it’s the punctuation (and not the line breaks) that are intended to mark the pauses.

Cautionary Tale

“It’s hurting me,” she said in half belief,
as he freed her passing hair from a button’s play.
He offered nothing else for her relief

except a smile agleam with shiny teeth
and eyes flecked with intelligence and grey.
“It’s hurting me,” she said in half belief,

about a life that had grown spare, deplete,
while casting him as knight to save the day.
He offered nothing else if not relief–

opened doors, used credit like a thief,
assured her “no” each time she tried to pay.
“It’s hurting me,” she said in half belief,

but smiled inside at all that seemed in reach;
her smooth-skinned youth would certainly hold sway;
she offered nothing else for his relief.

Game over when he pinned her underneath.
His weight, his age, his wealth, would have their way.
“It’s hurting me,” she said in half belief.
He offered nothing else for her relief.

(All rights reserved.  Karin Gustafson)