Amber Pearson
Lines Written by a Pencil Suspended from a String Overnight
My Dearest It,
well can I guess your feelings at finally hearing
from me, but I beg you to wait on them a moment,
and instead read these next few words with forbearance.
It is no secret that I have haunted you
these many months, but fear not, for I look
upon you not with the bloom of anger in my cheeks,
but rather the tender blush of adoration.
I beg you to turn your fears to joys—
for yes, I do change and move without your will,
but it is out of most tender devotion to you, and I
should not toil thus did I not love you so well.
I admit it is not without a certain wild pleasure
that I drift through your rooms, wantonly stroking
your brushes and combs that so lately caressed
your noble head, the fortunate linen of your shirts
that presses against you daily, the regimented spines
of your books. This, my darling It, is your beauty:
not carved cheekbone or brilliant flash of eye,
but your sincerity and luminosity, which have seeped
into your small world and now emanate
from all these things that live under your rule.
I feast on the spectacle of our joint work,
that together we place these things just so,
and this humble home is now to me
the rival of any cathedral in the land,
rich with relics and glory.
You must know of the ages of time
I spend with you, doting on your every word
and action, waiting to see if I might soon be struck
with wonder at the very grace of your limbs
and thoughts or if, like a student at drawing lessons,
it will take a gentle correction from the master’s hand
to bring harmonious perspective to the composition.
And oh, how thrilling to watch the dull scene
suddenly awaken under my hand—sometimes,
my dear It, you require from me only a gentle trick
of the light and spontaneously you awaken
from bud to full, lush blossom. And how you dazzle
my eyes when you are so transformed, when all
your life is a passion play, and I am the multitude
kissing the hem of your garment.
That this has caused you worry pains me;
nevertheless, I could not bring myself to fly
or confess myself. But now I unburden my heart
to you, dear It, and because you love and take comfort
in formality it is in this gentlest of all ladies’
voices that I announce myself to you. Darling,
look upon me with sentimentality, think of eyelet lace
and finely worked samplers, think of the pliant strength
of whalebone wrapped in cloth, and know
that I am nothing to be feared, but instead
let me be your angel in the house, that soft
and sweetening presence that soothes all ills
with a cool, white hand. Know also that love’s
powerful tide is not so easily turned; now
that we are here, I fear for what should happen
if you were lost to me. It is my most earnest hope,
therefore, that you can learn to love
such a Will-o’-the-Wisp as I must be to you,
learn to understand these works I perform
for you, with you, and learn that truly,
I do all in your best interest;
for never shall I leave you again.
With great affection,
Your Ghost