May 24: Love Poems, Carol Ann Duffy, "Warming Her Pearls"

I find myself drawn to love poems this week for some reason.  Perhaps it's the heat of them.  Or the hope.  Or the passion.  Reading a good love poem makes me feel like the world is okay.  That the Donald Trumps aren't going to build their walls.  That more people will embrace compassion and understanding and charity.

As John, Paul, George, and Ringo said, "All you need is love."

Saint Marty believes in the gospel of the Beatles.

Warming Her Pearls

by:  Carol Ann Duffy

          for Judith Radstone

 

Next to my own skin, her pearls. My mistress

bids me wear them, warm them, until evening

when I'll brush her hair. At six, I place them

round her cool, white throat. All day I think of her,

resting in the Yellow Room, contemplating silk

or taffeta, which gown tonight? She fans herself

whilst I work willingly, my slow heat entering

each pearl. Slack on my neck, her rope.

She's beautiful. I dream about her

in my attic bed; picture her dancing

with tall men, puzzled by my faint, persistent scent

beneath her French perfume, her milky stones.

I dust her shoulders with a rabbit's foot,

watch the soft blush seep through her skin

like an indolent sigh. In her looking-glass

my red lips part as though I want to speak.

Full moon. Her carriage brings her home. I see

her every movement in my head.... Undressing,

taking off her jewels, her slim hand reaching

for the case, slipping naked into bed, the way

she always does.... And I lie here awake,

knowing the pearls are cooling even now

in the room where my mistress sleeps. All night

I feel their absence and I burn.