We slept in another corridor
softly lit and carpeted this time
in a mushroom colour, browny-pink
a chair, a women’s washroom
I go out by the back door, into the garden, which is large and tidy
a lawn in the middle, a willow, weeping catkins around the edges
the flower borders
a room key
I walk along the gravel path that divides the back lawn
worse than the heat in daytime
Doubled, I walk different
a block past
from a long way off
the night is mine
my own time like birds with their wings clipped
like flightless birds
wrecked angels
the good weather — normal
My room, emptied of air
as if I’ve been kicked
sometimes I sing to myself, in my head
at the window, waiting
June
nobody says
why tempt her to friendship?
I don’t know how she ended
I thought the least by a roadblock
watching our retreating shapes then
I would not know
can I say?
I feel, become ordinary
I describe
I know you can’t
I could
Mine, then she’s walking away
Hurt you, was all she would say
I am orderly
Love into the dark within
or else the light
**********************************************************************
Sometimes, a poetic form is necessary to get the juices flowing.
This is a cut-up poem where I took the first and last sentences from the first ten and last ten chapters of The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood and used the first half and last half of each sentence (using a liberal interpretation of ‘half’!) to form the two sections.
The first section is formed from the first sentence in each paragraph, the second section is formed from the last sentence in each paragraph. I also sprinkled in some more rules (because why not?!). They’re my imperfectly applied secret.
I used artistic licence to insert punctuation as I saw fit and also omitted words from long sentences where I felt they hindered rather than assisted my poetic creation.
Thank you to Margaret Atwood for such an amazing novel, which has haunted me for decades.
Thank you for reading!
About the Creator
Zivah Avraham
I write poetry, prose, fiction and fact.
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