Member Poem

 
Alfred Hitchcock’s Doll

He first saw her in fantasies,
a beautiful woman with scarlet lipstick.
She wore a smart red hat and matching coat,
her dark hair flowed just past her shoulders.

In some dreams, they stopped at a bridge
to watch the fish perform a shadowy ballet.
He told her he liked the blue of her eyes,
but later, he couldn’t be sure of the shade.
 
In other dreams, he sat on the rug in her apartment,
talked about his film projects and actors,
softly and painfully slow, so she could understand,
for she was such a perfect reverie.
 
But his real life doll was Alma,
who was always there when he awoke.
Bergman, Leigh and Hedren
had nothing on her.