Aug112010
Scarlett shared her umbrella with no one, nor her...
Scarlett shared her umbrella with no one, nor her griefThe
gusts of wind within the rain blew stinging cold wet rivulets under the
umbrella, down her neck, but she was unaware of themShe felt
nothing, she was numbed by lossShe would mourn later, when she
could
stand the painShe held it away from her, all pain, all feeling, all
thinkingExcept for the words that repeated again and again in her
mind, the words that promised healing from the pain to come and
strength to survive until she was healedThis will be over soon, and
then I can go home to Taraashes to ashes, dust to dust
The minister's voice penetrated the shell of numbness, the words
registeredNo! Scarlett cried silentlyThat's not
Melly's grave, it's too big, she's so tiny, her bones no bigger than a
bird'sNo! She can't be dead, she can't buy miu miu be
Scarlett's head jerked to one side, denying the open grave, the plain
pine box being lowered into itThere were small half circle sunk into
the soft wood, marks of the hammers that had driven the nails to close
the lid above Melanie's gentle, loving, heart-shape faceNo!
You can't, you mustn't do this, it's raining, you can't put her there
where the rain will fall on herShe feels the cold so, she mustn't be
left in the cold rainI can't watch, I can't bear it, I won't believe
she's goneShe loves me, she is my friend, my only true friend
Melly
loves me, she wouldn't leave me now just when I need her most
Scarlett
looked at the people surrounding the grave, and anger surged through
herNone of them care as much as I do, nor of them have lost as
much
as I haveNo one knows how much I love herMelly knows, though,
doesn't 925 tiffany's necklace she? She knows, I've got to believe she knowsThey'll never
believe it, thoughMerriwether, or the Meades or the
Whitings or the ElsingsLook at them, bunched around India Wilkes
and
Ashley, like a flock of wet crows in mourning clothesThey're
comforting Aunt Pittypat, all right, though everybody knows she
takes on and cries her eyes out ovoe every little thing, down to a piece
of toast that gets burntIt wouldn enter their heads that maybe I
might be needing some comforting, I was closer to Melanie than any
of them
They act as if I wasn't even hereNobody has paid any attention to
me
at allShe knew I was there those awful two days
after Melly died, when she needed me to manage thingsThey all did,
even India, bleating like a goat"What shall we do about the
funeral, Scarlett? About the food for the callers? About tiffany co earrings the coffin?
The pallbearers? The cemetery plot? The inscription on the
headstone?
The notice in the paper? Now they're leaning all over each other,
weeping and wailingWell I won't give them the satisfaction of seeing
me cry all by myself wit nobody to lean onIf I start, I might never be able
to stopWhen I get to Tara, I can cryScarlett lifted her chin, her
teeth clenched to stop their chattering from the cold, to hold back the
choking in her throatThis will be over soon, and then I can go home
to
TaraThe jagged pieces of Scarlett's shattered life were all around
there in Atlanta's Oakland CemeteryA tall spire of granite, gray
stone streaked with gray rain, was somber memorial to the world that
was gone forever, the carefree world of her youth before the WarIt
was the Confederate Memorial, symbol of the balenciaga bag proud, heedless courage
that had plunged the South with bright banners flying into destruction
It stood for so many lives lost, the friends of her childhood, the
gallants who had begged for waltzes and kisses in the days when she
had
no problems greater than which wide-skirted ballgown to wearIt
stood
for her first husband, Charles Hamilton, Melanie's brotherIt stood
for the sons, brothers, husbands, fathers of all the rain-wet mourners
on the small knoll where Melanie was being buried
There were other graves, other markersFrank Kennedy, Scarlett's
second husband
And the small, terribly small, grave with the headstone that read
EUGENIE VIcToRIA BUTLER, and under it BoNNIEHer last child, and
the
most lovedThe living, as well as the dead, were all round her, but
she stood apartHalf of Atlanta was there, it louis cartier seemed
gusts of wind within the rain blew stinging cold wet rivulets under the
umbrella, down her neck, but she was unaware of themShe felt
nothing, she was numbed by lossShe would mourn later, when she
could
stand the painShe held it away from her, all pain, all feeling, all
thinkingExcept for the words that repeated again and again in her
mind, the words that promised healing from the pain to come and
strength to survive until she was healedThis will be over soon, and
then I can go home to Taraashes to ashes, dust to dust
The minister's voice penetrated the shell of numbness, the words
registeredNo! Scarlett cried silentlyThat's not
Melly's grave, it's too big, she's so tiny, her bones no bigger than a
bird'sNo! She can't be dead, she can't buy miu miu be
Scarlett's head jerked to one side, denying the open grave, the plain
pine box being lowered into itThere were small half circle sunk into
the soft wood, marks of the hammers that had driven the nails to close
the lid above Melanie's gentle, loving, heart-shape faceNo!
You can't, you mustn't do this, it's raining, you can't put her there
where the rain will fall on herShe feels the cold so, she mustn't be
left in the cold rainI can't watch, I can't bear it, I won't believe
she's goneShe loves me, she is my friend, my only true friend
Melly
loves me, she wouldn't leave me now just when I need her most
Scarlett
looked at the people surrounding the grave, and anger surged through
herNone of them care as much as I do, nor of them have lost as
much
as I haveNo one knows how much I love herMelly knows, though,
doesn't 925 tiffany's necklace she? She knows, I've got to believe she knowsThey'll never
believe it, thoughMerriwether, or the Meades or the
Whitings or the ElsingsLook at them, bunched around India Wilkes
and
Ashley, like a flock of wet crows in mourning clothesThey're
comforting Aunt Pittypat, all right, though everybody knows she
takes on and cries her eyes out ovoe every little thing, down to a piece
of toast that gets burntIt wouldn enter their heads that maybe I
might be needing some comforting, I was closer to Melanie than any
of them
They act as if I wasn't even hereNobody has paid any attention to
me
at allShe knew I was there those awful two days
after Melly died, when she needed me to manage thingsThey all did,
even India, bleating like a goat"What shall we do about the
funeral, Scarlett? About the food for the callers? About tiffany co earrings the coffin?
The pallbearers? The cemetery plot? The inscription on the
headstone?
The notice in the paper? Now they're leaning all over each other,
weeping and wailingWell I won't give them the satisfaction of seeing
me cry all by myself wit nobody to lean onIf I start, I might never be able
to stopWhen I get to Tara, I can cryScarlett lifted her chin, her
teeth clenched to stop their chattering from the cold, to hold back the
choking in her throatThis will be over soon, and then I can go home
to
TaraThe jagged pieces of Scarlett's shattered life were all around
there in Atlanta's Oakland CemeteryA tall spire of granite, gray
stone streaked with gray rain, was somber memorial to the world that
was gone forever, the carefree world of her youth before the WarIt
was the Confederate Memorial, symbol of the balenciaga bag proud, heedless courage
that had plunged the South with bright banners flying into destruction
It stood for so many lives lost, the friends of her childhood, the
gallants who had begged for waltzes and kisses in the days when she
had
no problems greater than which wide-skirted ballgown to wearIt
stood
for her first husband, Charles Hamilton, Melanie's brotherIt stood
for the sons, brothers, husbands, fathers of all the rain-wet mourners
on the small knoll where Melanie was being buried
There were other graves, other markersFrank Kennedy, Scarlett's
second husband
And the small, terribly small, grave with the headstone that read
EUGENIE VIcToRIA BUTLER, and under it BoNNIEHer last child, and
the
most lovedThe living, as well as the dead, were all round her, but
she stood apartHalf of Atlanta was there, it louis cartier seemed
Syndication