Margaret Atwood Poems

Marriage is not
a house or even a tent
...

All those times I was bored
out of my mind. Holding the log
while he sawed it. Holding
the string while he measured, boards,
...

More and more frequently the edges
of me dissolve and I become
a wish to assimilate the world, including
you, if possible through the skin
...

My daughter plays on the floor
with plastic letters,
red, blue & hard yellow,
learning how to spell,
...

In the burned house I am eating breakfast.
You understand: there is no house, there is no breakfast,
yet here I am.
...

I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
...

This is the lair of the landlady

She is
a raw voice
...

There is nothing to be afraid of,
it is only the wind
changing to the east, it is only
your father the thunder
...

He was the sort of man
who wouldn't hurt a fly.
Many flies are now alive
while he is not.
...

In the secular night you wander around
alone in your house. It's two-thirty.
Everyone has deserted you,
or this is your story;
...