The Gardenia Queen: Billie Holiday Poem by W.I. Stoneberger

They took the gardenia queen
and broke her royal spirit.
They took everything she had to give,
then threw it all away.

(The jumpboys still speak of her singing,
the way it would turn your spine
into a shiver.)

They dressed her up in long white gowns
and put her on display,
but always far enough away
from the long white faces.
They served her heaping plates of desperation,
then punished her for her addiction
to the blues.

(The jumpboys still speak of her voice,
the way it would set your heart flaming
into an inferno of memory and passion.)

She streamed through nights
of bad whiskey and bad loving,
shakes and shivers.
She watched her life flow by,
slow motion.
The fuzzy border between
pleasure and pain called love,
she walked on tiptoes.

(The jumpboys still speak of her walk,
a superb stumble of abandon
and style.)

The gardenia queen was drained,
broken wings haunted her jazz bird.
Wings of ash, too close to the flame,
and dreams of distorted melodies
filling her air
like a gospel choir.

(The jumpboys still speak of her laughter,
the way it would melt the stars
and make all sorrow
seem the same.)