Poems by Margaret Atwood
Roominghouse, Winter
... chaos In the backyard, frozen bones, the childrens' voices, derelict objectsInside, the wallbickles ...
She
... ast grab, with fur and a rapidpulse, so he can take that flutteringand make it him, do a transfusion ...
yes at first
... yes at first yougo down smooth aspills, all of mebreathes you in and then it'sa kick in the head, orangeand brutal, sharp jewelshit and myhair splinters the adjectivesfall away from me, nothreads left holdingme, I flake apartlayer bylayer downquietly to the bone, my skullunfolds to an astounded flowerregrowing the body, learningspeech again takesdays and longereach time / too much ofthis is fatal ...
