Zelda Fitzgerald: New York, NY. April, 1922

By Debra Conner

At the Tribune editor’s urging, I penned
a satiric review of The Beautiful and Damned,
joking about Scott’s habit of plucking
passages from my letters and diaries.

The newspaper’s folded open on the table
and I reread my best lines:
Mr. Fitzgerald — I believe that’s how
he spells his name — seems to believe
plagiarism begins at home.

I tried to keep it light, to ignore
the editor’s note that I’m Scott’s wife.
Buy the book, I urge the readers,
I need that gold dress in Bergdorf ’s window,
that splashy platinum ring.

Scott’s out and the baby’s asleep, so I trash
the rubble of butts and bottles. My head throbs.
My name on the page contracts and expands.
A broken glass bloodies my hands.