I don't need carp to jump out of the lake
to know disaster swims underneathor see my mother's brain scan to know fear
resides in small actionsbut I need to see slurry fog pull the sea into the valley,
before it leaves cars and starlings behindto have learned a lacewing can nibble itself out of the web before the spider
knows it's gone,that it takes a long time,
to make yourself a tube of wingand not often but sometimes, I need to open coriander
husks for the dusty seeds, the bright biteand when I'm away, before my day ends, I need your voice to tell me your day's story,
your voice that is aspen, sidewalk, bicycle, your name, my name.
YOU ARE READING
The Dictators' Guide to Good Housekeeping
PoetrySelected by Margaret Atwood for the 2012 Atty Award. Collection of 10 poems. (The cover photo is a detail from the painting "Eine kleine Nachtmusik" by Dorthea Tanning. Tate Collection, London).