Poem Therapy at 10:41 P.M. - Margaret Atwood

Variation on the Word Sleep
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
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.


This poem is appropriate for the late hour. Late, primarily because tomorrow is a long work day. You might be interested to know that the Beatles's Eleanor Rigby was the background music playing in my head while I read this poem (read it again and I bet you hear it too). The lyric all the lonely people just slays me every time I hear this song.

The lines, and walk with you through that lucent/wavering forest of bluegreen leaves/with its watery sun & three moons/ the cave where you must descend,/towards your worst fear cause a small tremor behind my eyes. I know this cave. We all know this cave. It would be so much easier if we could take a companion or a guide, but entering the cave is a solitary experience. Necessary, but not fun.

Margaret Atwood is one of the most brilliant writers of the century. It's hard to categorize her or her writing. She's fearless, and mischievously funny, a surprising combination. She's tackled every difficult subject under our big hydrogen ball. I went to hear her read a few years ago when she was in Salt Lake City and was shocked when she walked onto the stage. She was blonde. She's always been brunette. Of course she addressed her hair color first thing. Her blondeness was not a 3/4 life crisis attempt at reclaiming youth, or research to see if blondes really do have more fun, (I was blonde for exactly five days and I'll tell you blondes get harassed a lot by men from every walk of life, more than brunettes, and if that's fun, have at it). Her blondeness was merely a transition to gray hair.

I have a few strands of gray right in the middle of my side-part. I used to pull them out, despite the superstition that more will grow. Now I call them my Bride of Frankenstein.