Pauline

“Then he started his period.
One week in bed.
Two doctors in.
Three painkillers four times a day.
And later a letter to the powers-that-be
demanding full-paid menstrual leave twelve weeks per year.”
― Carol Ann Duffy, Selected Poems

“Give me, you said, on our very first night,
the forest. I rose from the bed and went out,
and when I returned, you listened, enthralled,
to the shadowy story I told.

Give me the river,
you asked the next night, then I’ll love you forever.
I slipped from your arms and was gone,
and when I came back, you listened, at dawn,
to the glittering story I told.

Give me, you said, the gold
from the sun. A third time, I got up and dressed,
and when I came home, you sprawled on my breast,
for the dazzling story I told.

Give me,
the hedgerows, give me the fields,
I slid from the warmth of our sheets,
and when I returned, to kiss you from sleep,
you stirred at the story I told.

give me the silvery cold,
of the moon. I pulled on my boots and my coat,
but when i came back, moonlight on your throat
outshone the story I told

Give me, you howled
on our sixth night together, the wind in the trees.
You turned to the wall as I left,
and when I came home, I saw you were deaf
to the blustering story I told.

Give me the sky, all the space
it can hold. I left you, the last night we loved,
and when I returned, you were gone with the gold,
and the silver, the river, the forest, the fields,
and this is the story I’ve told.


"Give”
― Carol Ann Duffy, Rapture

“I tend the mobile now
like an injured bird

We text, text, text
our significant words.

I re-read your first,
your second, your third,

look for your small xx,
feeling absurd.

The codes we send
arrive with a broken chord.

I try to picture your hands,
their image is blurred.

Nothing my thumbs press
will ever be heard.


"Text”
― Carol Ann Duffy, Rapture

“La vie n'est qu'un mouvement qui court après sa forme sans la trouver jamais.”
― Albert Camus