Elegy for a Pair
of White Gloves

The lady who used to make them
has died and no one can be found
to replace her
From now on all gloves will be
machine made only

On Sunday mornings always
a pair of white gloves
and with every best frock
and to the opera matinées with Daddy
at school assemblies they were
de rigueur along with the silly hat
(we were not mere girls but
ladies in waiting)                            

If you had a lover
what better token than this?
If you didn’t have a lover
you might attract one by virtue
of their pristine butterfly beauty

Now the lady who made them
has died
and there is no one
to take her place
I am wearing on my long-fingered
pianissimo hands
the very last pair of white gloves

Grace Andreacchi

If you have any comments on this poem, Grace Andreacchi would be pleased to hear them.