a poem some days (exceptindreams) wrote,
a poem some days

1884: Eventual Proteus | Margaret Atwood

"Eventual Proteus"
Margaret Atwood

I held you
through all your shifts
of structure: while your bones turned
from caved rock back to marrow,
the dangerous
fur faded to hair
the bird’s cry died in your throat
the treebark paled from your skin
the leaves from your eyes

till you limped back again
to daily man:
a lounger on streetcorners
an iron-shiny garbadine
a leaner on stale tables:
at night a twitching sleeper
dreaming of crumbs and rhymes and a sagging woman
caged by a sour bed.

The early
languages are obsolete.

These days we keep
our weary distances:
sparring in the vacant spaces
of peeling rooms
and rented minutes, climbing
all the expected stairs, our voices
abraded with fatigue,
our bodies wary.
Tags: margaret atwood

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