Poems of Edna St. Vincent Millay
by Con Chapman
Edna St. Vincent Millays
monogrammed towels are on display at Steepletop,
the 700-acre farm where she secluded herself from
an adoring public.
The Boston Globe
The iron is set too high. Dont
put it on where it says Linenor
it will scorch the linen. Try it on Rayonand
then, perhaps on Woolen.
from Millay to a neighbor who helped her keep
Ill tell you a secret that nobody
Ive a big fat crush on swags and jabots
and other expensive window treatments
that when installed look very neat. Gents,
I have many, calling upon me
almost to the point that they fall upon me.
I dont want your love, I blush,
but could you bang a nail in the wall with
monogram! Mark of shallow vanity
that one desires ones initial on a towel
for all to see!
I hesitateam I too vain?
That I dont want a towel hanging thats
much too plain?
That I want instead one that looks back at me
with the first initials of my names three?
O what the hell, I scream, and say
Please mark them E S little t V M!
night, before in bed I lay
I lift my eyes to heaven and pray:
Oh God, permit me one more day!
and Id also like a new duvet.
dont know much, but this much is certain:
There was some kind of fungi on my shower curtain,
And when I got naked it seemed to look
at me through every shower I took.
And so, though I love every living thing,
into the trash this plastic I fling.
generations may think me loopy
for my verses, daft and goopy,
but one swelling emotion has my heart all filled
I detest of all things yellow waxy build-up!