Mary Shelley in Brigantine

Mary Shelley in Brigantine


Because the ostracized experience the world
in ways peculiar to themselves,
often seeing it clearly yet with such anger
and longing that they sometimes enlarge
what they see, she at first saw Brigantine
as a paradise for gulls.
She must be a horseshoe crab washed ashore.

How startling, though,
no one knew about her past,
the scandal with Percy,
the tragic early deaths,
yet sad that her Frankenstein had become
just a name, like Dracula or Satan,
something that stood for a kind of scariness,
good for a laugh.
She found herself welcome everywhere.

People would tell her about Brigantine Castle,
turned into a house of horror. They thought
she'd be pleased that her monster roamed
its dark corridors, making children scream.
They lamented the day it was razed.
Thus Mary Shelley found herself accepted

by those who had no monster in them —
the most frightening people alive,
she thought.
Didn't they know Frankenstein
had abandoned his creation,
set him loose without guidance
or a name? Didn't they know
what it feels like to be lost,
freaky, forever seeking who you are?

She was amazed now that people believed
you could shop for everything you might need.
She loved that in the dunes
you could almost hide.
At the computer store she asked an expert
if there was such a thing
as too much knowledge,
or going too far?
He directed her to a website

where he thought the answers were.
Yet Mary Shelley realized that the pain
she felt all her life was gone.
Could her children, dead so young,
be alive somewhere, too?
She couldn't know that only her famous
mother had such a chance.
She was almost ready to praise
this awful world.


Stephen Dunn

Posted over on Poetry Foundation