Margaret Atwood

Gone are the days
when you could walk on water.
When you could walk.

The days are gone.
Only one day remains,
the one you're in.

The memory is no friend.
It can only tell you
what you no longer have:

a left hand you can use,
two feet that walk.
All the brain's gadgets.

Hello, hello.
The one hand that still works
grips, won't let go.

That is not a train.
There is no cricket.
Let's not panic.

Let's talk about axes,
which kinds are good,
the many names of wood.

This is how to build
a house, a boat, a tent.
No use; the toolbox

refuses to reveal its verbs;
the rasp, the plane, the awl,
revert to sullen metal.

Do you recognize anything? I said.
Anything familiar?
Yes, you said. The bed.

Better to watch the stream
that flows across the floor
and is made of sunlight,

the forest made of shadows;
better to watch the fireplace
which is now a beach.

some facts

• Her first novel, The Edible Woman, sat in a drawer on submission for two years.
• She was among the first to name and analyze “Canadian literature” in a way that made it feel meaningful and vital to the country
• Many of Atwood’s books have been read as criticizing the excesses of feminism as well as patriarchy
• Atwood’s been cosplaying almost since before your parents were born, young’uns