A Messenger
by Margaret Atwood
The man came from nowhere
and is going nowhere
The man came from nowhere
and is going nowhere
one day he suddenly appeared
outside my window
suspended in the air
between the ground and the tree bough
outside my window
suspended in the air
between the ground and the tree bough
I once thought all encounters
were planned:
newspaper boys passing
in the street, with cryptic
headlines, waitresses and their coded
menus, women standing in streetcars
with secret packages, were sent to
me. And gave some time
to their deciphering
were planned:
newspaper boys passing
in the street, with cryptic
headlines, waitresses and their coded
menus, women standing in streetcars
with secret packages, were sent to
me. And gave some time
to their deciphering
but this one is clearly
accidental; clearly this one is
accidental; clearly this one is
no green angel, simple black and white
fiend; no ordained
messenger; merely
a random face
revolving outside the window
fiend; no ordained
messenger; merely
a random face
revolving outside the window
and if no evident abstract
significance, then
something as contingent
as a candidate for marriage
in this district of exacting neighbours:
not meant for me personally
but generic: to be considered
from all angles (origin; occupation;
aim in life); identification
papers examined; if appropriate,
conversed with; when
he can be made to descend.
significance, then
something as contingent
as a candidate for marriage
in this district of exacting neighbours:
not meant for me personally
but generic: to be considered
from all angles (origin; occupation;
aim in life); identification
papers examined; if appropriate,
conversed with; when
he can be made to descend.
Meanwhile, I wonder
black and white
myths he swallowed by mistake
is feeding on him like a tapeworm
has raised him from the ground
and brought him to this window
myths he swallowed by mistake
is feeding on him like a tapeworm
has raised him from the ground
and brought him to this window
swivelling from some invisible rope
his particular features
fading day by day
his eyes melted
first; Thursday
his flesh became translucent
shouting at me
(specific) me
desperate messages with his
obliterated mouth
his particular features
fading day by day
his eyes melted
first; Thursday
his flesh became translucent
shouting at me
(specific) me
desperate messages with his
obliterated mouth
in a silent language
From The Circle Game by Margaret Atwood, page 6
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