Up

Give dear Margaret Atwood a chance a explain why you cannot get out of bed, and what needs to be done to haul you up. Up you go..

You wake up filled with dread.
There seems no reason for it.
Morning light sifts through the window,
There is birdsong.
You can’t get out of bed.It’s something about the crumpled sheets
Hanging over the edge like jungle
Foliage, the terry slippers gaping
Their dark pink mouths for your feet,
The unseen breakfast—some of it
In the refridgerator you do not dare
To open—you will not dare to eat.

What prevents you? The future. The future tense
Immense as outer space.
You could get lost there.
No. nothing so simple. The past, its density
And drowned events pressing you down,
Like sea water, like gelatin
Filling your lungs instead of air.

Forget all that and let’s get up.
Try moving your arm.
Try moving your head.
Pretend the house is on fire
And you must run or burn.
No, that one’s useless
It’s never worked before.

Where it is coming from, this echo?
This huge No that surrounds you,
Silent as the folds of the yellow
Curtains, mute as the cheerful

Mexican bowl with its cargo
Of mummified flowers?
(you chose the colours of the sun,
Not the dried neutrals of the shadow,
God knows you tried)

Now here’s a good one:
You’re lying on your deathbed.
You have one hour to live.
Who is it, exactly, you have needed
All these years to forgive?

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: