Mercedes Webb-Pullman

Let's Hear It for the Women

 

 

The execution of Mary Queen of Scots

 

Queen of four countries, thrice wed,

double-crossed by cousin Elizabeth,

you leave your throne to your son in stead,

walk straight and serene to your death.

 

Like a bride, so serious and pale,

focus of eyes, you descend the steps

head held high. Your coif’s veil

shines nuptial white through the depths

 

past balustrades wreathed in black

that match your satin velvet gown.

Shadows stretch behind you, back

to your father’s death, your first crown

 

at six days old, through all the deaths along

your life. A petticoat shows a hint of red

below your dress; red as your hair once shone,

red as the sign of a martyrs death,

 

red as the blood that gouts and flows 

over the dais where still you kneel

after the executioner’s stroke.

Your blood stains your missal and rosary,

 

drips from your neck as he picks up your braid,

the watchers’ horrified screams wide-spread

as your wig gives way, and over the stage

bounces your grey, cropped head.

 

 

Patty Hearst

 

The most well-known female bank robber

after Bonnie Parker

as long as the enemy exist

I can find no rest

 

after Bonnie Parker

the biggest action since Foster

I can find no rest

death to the fascist insect

 

the biggest action since Foster

Naga the seven-headed cobra

death to the fascist insect

that preys on the life of the people

 

Naga the seven-headed cobra

the interdependence of different species

that preys on the life of the people

there aren’t any shortcuts to

 

the interdependence of different species

General Field Marshall Cinque Mtume

there aren’t any shortcuts to

meaningful social change

 

General Field Marshall Cinque Mtume

America’s most wanted

meaningful social change

I’m changing my name to Tania

 

America’s most wanted

SLA feeds the poor

I’m changing my name to Tania

I have decided to stay and fight

 

SLA feeds the poor

People in Need

I have decided to stay and fight

a standard M1 carbine with a flashlight

 

People in Need

as long as the enemy exist

a standard M1 carbine with a flashlight

the most well-known female bank robber

 

 

Sallie-Anne

 

Just a junkie hooker

who couldn’t pull the tail

from the snake’s mouth

 

but she knows the cop

murdered her lover

and covered it up.

 

(Nothing is worse than 

a crooked cop.)

 

He arranges a meeting

in Centennial Park,

a cast-iron bench 

by a pool in the dark.

 

Next morning, dew 

dapples the seat, gathers

and trickles down

 

past candy wrappers,

past a high-heeled sandal

lying on its side. It drips 

into the pool 

 

where ripples glide

and settle over

her wide open eyes,

her whistle-silenced lips.

 

 

Virginia

 

Her world of air and water turned to stone;

on life’s great stage she knew she’d missed a cue.

With timid steps she exited, alone.

 

Her words, like flesh, struck sweetest near the bone

where blood runs hot, and pain rebirths as new

her world. When air and water turned to stone,

 

tormented by the wrongs she can’t atone,

she faced the truth she’d only tip-toed through

with timid steps. She exited alone

 

weighed down by failure. Harvests she had sown

became the famine that would soon undo

her world of air and water. Turned to stone,

 

she froze as time expired, white ashes blown

away like veils, exposing death’s allure.

With timid steps she exited. Alone

 

she walked her garden one last time. Well-known

the path, the gate. One final sad adieu;

her words of air and water turned to stone,

with timid steps she exited alone.

 

 

Mileva

 

For years we faced each other
across our massive square table
under the kitchen light.
Seated, I didn’t limp
as we climbed towards 

the unknown. Our theory 

disproved simultaneity.
We’d hiked through fogs of old ideas,
but when we came into the clear
you stood on a separate mountain.
 
I lost our daughter
and my physics career
to your year of wonders.
I got older, ugly you said.
What wife could stand aside
passive and quiet
while her husband made love
to another, younger woman?
You called it ‘the dark Slavic part’
of my soul, and never forgave me
my outburst against Anneli.
Destroyed your peace of mind, you said.
What about mine?
 
Jealous of science, yet I became
pregnant again. In Prague
where you were celebrated and I
knew no one, people treated me coldly.
You called me schizophrenic. I didn’t
satisfy you in any way. You found marriage
an unbearable fetter. You saw 

your ‘beloved street urchin’,
our ‘great bohemian adventure’,
as attempts to make something lasting
out of an accident. You called our love
an accident. You left me
with the speed of light.

 

 

 

Mercedes Webb-Pullman graduated from the International Institute of Modern Letters, Victoria University, Wellington, New Zealand with her MA in Creative Writing. She is the author of Tasseography (2014) Track Tales (Truth Serum Press, 2017) and The Jean Genie (Hammer & Anvil Books, 2018). Her poems, and the odd short story, have appeared online (Bone Orchard Poetry, Caesura, Connotations, Danse Macabre, The Electronic Bridge, 4th Floor, Main Street Rag, Otoliths, Reconfigurations, Scum, Swamp, Pure Slush, Turbine, among others) and in print (Mana magazine, Poets to the People; Poetry from Lembas Cafe 2009, The 2010 Readstrange Collection, PoetryNZ Yearbook, many anthologies from Kind of a Hurricane Press, and the Danse Macabre anthologies Amour Sombre, Belles-Lettres, Hauptfriedhof, and Weihnachtsmarkt (Hammer & Anvil Books, 2017 & 2018). She has also won the Wellington Cafe Poetry contest in 2010, and wrote a foreword for their collection of 2012 contest entrants, which included another of her poems. Since then she has been awarded 3rd prize in United Poets Laureate International Poetry Contest 2015, and is particularly proud of having a haiku (the only one from New Zealand) in 100 Haiku for Peace, an international publication in five languages. Her lucky number is 8. Blue. She lives in Paraparaumu Beach, New Zealand. 

 

Mercedes is Danse Macabre’s 2019 Artist-in-Residence. Read more of her captivating poetry in DM du Jour throughout the month of May. Previous DM Artists-in-Residence include Peter Weltner and Peter Marra.