Firstly, his hands - a woman's. Softer than mine,
with pearly nails, like shells from Galilee.
Indolent hands. Camp hands that clapped for grapes.
Their pale, mothy touch made me flinch. Pontius.
I longed for Rome, home, someone else. When the Nazarene
entered Jerusalem, my maid and I crept out,
bored stiff, disguised, and joined the frenzied crowd.
I tripped, clutched the bridle of an ass, looked up
and there he was. His face? Ugly. Talented.
He looked at me. I mean he looked at me. My God.
His eyes were eyes to die for. Then he was gone,
Carol Ann Duffy tells the story with economy. Few words are needed as most readers are familiar with the events of Christ’s crucifixion. The phrases are spare, divided by commas, without conjunctions. We know when she says that she ‘clutched the bridle of an ass’ that she is referring to the ass Jesus rode on into Jerusalem.
Pilates Wife