Tuesday, November 23, 2004

Poem of the Week 11/23/2004: Night Poem

Night Poem

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

In this country of water
with its beige moon damp as a mushroom,
its drowned stumps and long birds
that swim, where the moss grows
on all sides of the tree
and your shadow is not your shadow
but your reflection,

your true parents disappear
when the curtain covers your door.
We are the others,
the ones from under the lake
who stand silently beside your bed
with our heads of darkness.
We have come to cover you
with red wool,
with our tears and distant whispers.

You rock in the rain's arms
the chilly ark of your sleep,
while we wait, your night
father and mother
with our cold hands and dead flashlight,
knowing we are only
the wavering shadows thrown
by one candle, in this echo
you will hear twenty years later.

-Margaret Atwood

Hey everybody! I do this thing at my dorm where I put a different poem on the week every week, and so I have decided to send it out as well. Feel free to either read or not read this email - but you should let me know if you aren't going to read it in the future so that I don't bother you by sending it to you! If you have any suggestions, also feel free. Anyways, I hope you are all well!

- Sarah

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