In the Secular Night di Margaret Atwood In the secular night you wander ar alone in your house. It’s two-thir Everyone has deserted you, or this is your story; you remember it from being sixteen 1 1
Marrying the Hangman di Margaret Atwood She has been condemned to death by may escape this death by becoming woman by marrying the hangman. But time there is no hangman; thus the There is only a death, indefinitel 1 2
February di Margaret Atwood Winter. Time to eat fat and watch hockey. In the pewter mo a black fur sausage with yellow Houdini eyes, jumps up on the bed to get onto my head. It’s his
The animals in that country di Margaret Atwood In that country the animals have the faces of people: the ceremonial cats possessing the streets the fox run
They eat out di Margaret Atwood In restaurants we argue over which of us will pay for your though the real question is whether or not I will make you imm At the moment only I 1
They are hostile nations di Margaret Atwood i In view of the fading animals the proliferation of sewers and fe the sea clogging, the air nearing extinction
The Loneliness of the Military Historian di Margaret Atwood Confess: it’s my profession that alarms you. This is why few people ask me to d though Lord knows I don’t go out I wear dresses of sensible cut
The circle game di Margaret Atwood i The children on the lawn joined hand to hand go round and round each arm going into
Helen of Troy Does Countertop Dancing di Margaret Atwood The world is full of women who’d tell me I should be ashamed if they had the chance. Quit danci Get some self-respect and a day job.
Morning in the Burned House di Margaret Atwood In the burned house I am eating b You understand: there is no house, yet here I am. The spoon which was melted scrapes the bowl which was melted also. 1
This Is a Photograph of Me di Margaret Atwood It was taken some time ago. At first it seems to be a smeared print: blurred lines and grey flec blended with the paper;
Variation on the Word Sleep di Margaret Atwood I would like to watch you sleeping which may not happen. I would like to watch you, sleeping. I would like to sleep with you, to enter
The Puppet of the Wolf di Margaret Atwood The puppet of the wolf I have not made yet encloses my right hand: fur stubbles my wrists, a tongue, avid, carnivorous,
Backdropp Addresses Cowboy di Margaret Atwood Starspangled cowboy sauntering out of the almost– silly West, on your face a porcelain grin, tugging a papier-mache cactus
Bored di Margaret Atwood All those times I was bored out of my mind. Holding the log while he sawed it. Holding the string while he measured, boar distances between things, or pound 1
The Double Voice di Margaret Atwood Two voices took turns using my eyes: One had manners, painted in watercolours, used hushed tones when speaking 1
Charivari di Margaret Atwood ‘They capped their heads with feat their faces, wore their clothes ba with torches through the midnight and dragged the black man from his to the jolting music of broken
The City Planners di Margaret Atwood Cruising these residential Sunday streets in dry August sunlight: what offends us is the sanities: the houses in pedantic rows, the p 1
Cyclops di Margaret Atwood You, going along the path, mosquito-doped, with no moon, the a single orange eye unable to see what is beyond the capsule of your dim
The Small Cabin di Margaret Atwood The house we built gradually from the ground up when we were yo (three rooms, the walls raw trees) burned down last year they said 1
Death of a Young Son by Drowning di Margaret Atwood He, who navigated with success the dangerous river of his own bir once more set forth on a voyage of discovery into the land I floated on
Elegy for the Giant Tortoises di Margaret Atwood Let others pray for the passenger the dodo, the whooping crane, the everyone must specialize I will confine myself to a meditat upon the giant tortoises 2
Flying Inside Your Own Body di Margaret Atwood Your lungs fill & spread themselve wings of pink blood, and your bone empty themselves and become hollow When you breathe in you’ll lift li and your heart is light too & huge 1
Habitation di Margaret Atwood Marriage is not a house or even a tent it is before that, and colder: The edge of the forest, the edge of the desert 1
Is/Not di Margaret Atwood Love is not a profession genteel or otherwise sex is not dentistry the slick filling of aches and cav you are not my doctor
Beauharnois di Margaret Atwood The bronze clock brought with such care over the sea, which ticked like the fat slow hea of a cedar, of a grandmother, melted and its hundred years
II Beauharnois, Glengarry di Margaret Atwood Those whose houses were burned burned houses. What else ever happ once you start? While the roofs plunged into the root-filled cellars,
You Are Happy di Margaret Atwood The water turns a long way down over the raw stone ice crusts around it We walk separately along the hill to the open 2
Journey to the Interior di Margaret Atwood There are similarities I notice: that the hills which the eyes make flat as a wall together, open as I move to let me through; become 8 25
From a Place: Fragments VII di Margaret Atwood An other sense tugs at us: we have lost something, some key to these things which must be writings and are locked against us
The Landlady di Margaret Atwood This is the lair of the landlady She is a raw voice loose in the rooms beneath me. the continuous henyard
The Moment di Margaret Atwood The moment when, after many years of hard work and a long voyage you stand in the centre of your ro house, half-acre, square mile, isl knowing at last how you got there, 1 1
More and More di Margaret Atwood More and more frequently the edges of me dissolve and I become a wish to assimilate the world, in you, if possible through the skin like a cool plant’s tricks with ox
Night Poem di Margaret Atwood There is nothing to be afraid of, it is only the wind changing to the east, it is only your father the thunder your mother the rain
Provisions di Margaret Atwood What should we have taken with us? We never could decide on that; or what to wear, or at what time of year we should make the journey
The Rest di Margaret Atwood The rest of us watch from beyond t as the woman moves with her jagged into her pain as if into a slow ra We see her body in motion but hear no sounds, or we hear