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“I found the words at the back of a drawer, wrapped in black cloth, like three rings slipped from a dead woman’s hand, cold, dull gold. I had held them before, years ago, then put them away, forgetting whatever it was I could use them to say. I touched the first to my lips, like a pledge, like a kiss, and my breath warmed them, the words I needed to utter this, small words, and few. I rubbed at them till they gleamed in my palm – I love you, I love you, I love you – as though they were new.” — Carol Ann Duffy
I found the words at the back of a drawer,
wrapped in black cloth, like three rings
slipped from a dead woman’s hand, cold,
dull gold. I had held them before,
years ago,
then put them away, forgetting whatever it was
I could use them to say. I touched the first to my lips,
like a pledge, like a kiss,
and my breath
warmed them, the words I needed to utter this, small words,
and few. I rubbed at them till they gleamed in my palm –
I love you, I love you, I love you –
as though they were new.