Moor with Emeralds
------------Great love needs a servant
------------but you don't know how to use your servants.
---------------------------------–Leonard Cohen, Beautiful Losers
Dear Master, Dear Dear Master,
Do not sigh so heavily, do not droop
into Mad Melancholy, look up!
I am here to serve. I await
a Word–any word!–that I may
set down before you an array of Nature's
most flagrant Outbursts, heaped Evidence
of Fortunes fought for and won.
Who can sit nursing Gloom when bathed
in the green Fires of Phantasmagoria?
Think of it! Smile upon
my jagged Darlings, there ruptured Sweets
I lift up, fresh for your gazing!
You may think me a mere charcoal coolie,
yet I bear such beautiful Redundance!
I am its jubilant Negro,
its incandescent Indian;
I am muscled in a pearwood,
draped in garnets and almandine
I glisten with Fortitude!
I stand rinsed–yes!–with Joy,
a Holy Messenger buoyed
by a chorus of Hallelujahs,
all in praise of this Platter of Emeralds.
And so We are Yours now, Sire.
I will say it a thousand of times
if I must–I can!–for I have
been waiting all my Life to step into
this Moment, your Moment,
from Sonata Mulattica (New York: W.W. Norton & Co., © 2009 by Rita Dove). All rights reserved. Copying to other websites or any kind of reprint is a violation of international copyright laws and strictly forbidden.