Carol Ann Duffy - Queen Herod lyrics

Ice in the trees. Three Queens at the Palace gates, dressed in furs, accented; their several sweating, panting beasts laden for a long hard trek, following the guide and boy to the stables; courteous, confident; oh, and with gifts for the King and Queen of here – Herod, me – in exchange for sunken baths, curtained beds, fruit, the best of meat and wine, dancers, music, talk – as it turned out to be, with everyone fast asleep, save me, those vivid three – till bitter dawn. They were wise. Older than I. They knew what they knew. Once drunken Herod's head went back, they asked to see her, fast asleep in her crib, my little child. Silver and gold, the loose change of herself, glowed in the soft bowl of her face. Grace, said the tallest Queen. Strength, said the Queen with the hennaed hands. The black Queen made a tiny starfish of my daughter's fist, said Happiness; then stared at me, Queen to Queen, with insolent lust. Watch, they said, for a star in the east – a new star pierced through the night like a nail. It means he's here, alive, newborn. Who? Him. The Husband. Hero. Hunk. The Boy Next Door. The Paramour. The Je t'adore. The Marrying Kind. Adulterer. Bigamist. The Wolf. The Rip. The Rake. The Rat. The Heartbreaker. The Ladyk**er. Mr Right. My baby stirred, s**led the empty air for milk, till I knelt and the black Queen scooped out my breast, the left, guiding it down to the infant's mouth. No man, I swore, will make her shed one tear. A peaco*k screamed outside. Afterwards, it seemed like a dream. The pungent camels kneeling in the snow, the guide's rough shout as he clapped his leather gloves, hawked, spat, snatched the smoky jug of mead from the chittering maid – she was twelve, thirteen. I watched each turbaned Queen rise like a god on the back of her beast. And splayed that night below Herod's fusty bulk, I saw the fierce eyes of the black Queen flash again, felt her urgent warnings scald my ear. Watch for a star, a star. It means he's here… Some swaggering lad to break her heart, some wincing Prince to take her name away and give a ring, a nothing, a nought in gold. I sent for the Chief of Staff, a mountain man with a red scar, like a tick to the mean stare of his eye. Take men and horses, knives, swords, cutla**es. Ride East from here and k** each mother's son. Do it. Spare not one. The midnight hour. The chattering stars shivered in a nervous sky. Orion to the South who knew the score, who'd seen, not seen, then seen it all before; the yapping Dog Star at his heels. High up in the West a studded, diamond W. And then, as prophesied, blatant, brazen, buoyant in the East – and blue – The Boyfriend's Star. We do our best, we Queens, we mothers, mothers of Queens. We wade through blood for our sleeping girls. We have daggers for eyes. Behind our lullabies, the hooves of terrible horses thunder and drum.