Power

Politics

ALSO BY MARGARET ATWOOD

Poetry

The Animals in That Country

The Circle Game

Interlunar

The Journals of Susanna Moodie

Morning in the Burned House

Procedures for Underground

Selected Poems [1966-1974]

Selected Poems 1966-1984

Selected Poems II: Poems Selected and New, 1976-1986

True Stories

Two-Headed Poems

You Are Happy

Fiction

Alias Grace

The Blind Assassin

Bluebeard’s Egg

Bodily Harm

Cat’s Eye

Dancing Girls

The Edible Woman

Good Bones

Good Bones and Simple Murders

The Handmaid’s Tale

Lady Oracle

Life Before Man

Murder in the Dark

Oryx and Crake

The Robber Bride

Surfacing

Wilderness Tips

Nonfiction

Days of the Rebels 1815-1840

Moving Targets: Writing with Intent 1982-2004

Negotiating with the Dead: A Writer on Writing

Second Words: Selected Critical Prose 1960-1982

Strange Things: The Malevolent North in Canadian Literature

Survival: A Thematic Guide to Canadian Literature

Two Solicitudes: Conversations [with Victor-Lévy Beaulieu]

Power

Politics

margaret atwood

poems

Copyright © 1971 , 1996 Margaret Atwood

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

First published in 1971 by House of Anansi Press Ltd.

Revised edition published in 1996

This edition published in 2005 by

House of Anansi Press Inc.

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LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION DATA

Atwood, Margaret, 1939-

Power politics

2nd ed.

Poems.

ISBN 0-88784-579-7

I. Title.

PS8501.T86P671996     C811’.54     C96-930636-9

PR9199.3.A78P67 1996

Some of these poems appeared on CBC Anthology, and in the following magazines: Blew Ointment, Kayak, New Work, Saturday Night, Tuatara, and Vigilante. “Hesitations Outside the Door” and “You refuse to own / yourself” first appeared in Poetry (Chicago). “They are hostile nations” was published as a broadsheet by Peter Martin Associates.

Cover design: Bill Douglas at The Bang

Author photograph: Dominic Turner

We acknowledge for their financial support of our publishing program the Canada Council for the Arts, the Ontario Arts Council, and the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP).

Printed and bound in Canada

Power

Politics

you fit into me

like a hook into an eye

a fish hook

an open eye

He reappears

You rose from a snowbank

with three heads, all

your hands were in your pockets

I said, haven’t

I seen you somewhere before

You pretended you were hungry

I offered you sandwiches and gingerale

but you refused

Your six eyes glowed

red, you shivered cunningly

Can’t we

be friends I said;

you didn’t answer.

You take my hand and

I’m suddenly in a bad movie,

it goes on and on and

why am I fascinated

We waltz in slow motion

through an air stale with aphorisms

we meet behind endless potted palms

you climb through the wrong windows

Other people are leaving

but I always stay till the end

I paid my money, I

want to see what happens.

In chance bathtubs I have to

peel you off me

in the form of smoke and melted

celluloid

Have to face it I’m

finally an addict,

the smell of popcorn and worn plush

lingers for weeks

She considers evading him

I can change myself

more easily

than I can change you

I could grow bark and

become a shrub

or switch back in time

to the woman image left

in cave rubble, the drowned

stomach bulbed with fertility,

face a tiny bead, a

lump, queen of the termites

or (better) speed myself up,

disguise myself in the knuckles

and purple-veined veils of old ladies,

become arthritic and genteel

or one twist further:

collapse across your

bed clutching my heart

and pull the nostalgic sheet up over

my waxed farewell smile

which would be inconvenient

but final.

They eat out

In restaurants we argue

over which of us will pay for your funeral

though the real question is

whether or not I will make you immortal.

At the moment only I

can do it and so

I raise the magic fork

over the plate of beef fried rice

and plunge it into your heart.

There is a faint pop, a sizzle

and through your own split head

you rise up glowing;

the ceiling opens

a voice sings Love Is A Many

Splendoured Thing

you hang suspended above the city

in blue tights and a red cape,

your eyes flashing in unison.

The other diners regard you

some with awe, some only with boredom:

they cannot decide if you are a new weapon

or only a new advertisement.

As for me, I continue eating;

I liked you better the way you were,

but you were always ambitious.

After the agony in the guest

bedroom, you lying by the

overturned bed

your face uplifted, neck propped

against the windowsill, my arm

under you, cold moon

shining down through the window

wine mist rising

around you, an almost-

visible halo

You say, Do you

love me, do you love me

I answer you:

I stretch your arms out

one to either side,

your head slumps forward.

Later I take you home

in a taxi, and you

are sick in the bathtub.

My beautiful wooden leader

with your heartful of medals

made of wood, fixing it

each time so you almost win,

you long to be bandaged

before you have been cut.

My love for you is the love

of one statue for another: tensed

and static. General, you enlist

my body in your heroic

struggle to become real:

though you promise bronze rescues

you hold me by the left ankle

so that my head brushes the ground,

my eyes are blinded,

my hair fills with white ribbons.

There are hordes of me now, alike

and paralyzed, we follow you

scattering floral tributes

under your hooves.

Magnificent on your wooden horse

you point with your fringed hand;

the sun sets, and the people all

ride off in the other direction.

He is a strange biological phenomenon

Like eggs and snails you have a shell

You are widespread

and bad for the garden,

hard to eradicate

Scavenger, you feed

only on dead meat:

Your flesh by now

is pure protein,

smooth as gelatin

or the slick bellies of leeches

You are sinuous and without bones

Your tongue leaves tiny scars

the ashy texture of mildewed flowers

You thrive on smoke; you have

no chlorophyll; you move

from place to place like a disease

Like mushrooms you live in closets

and come out only at night.

You want to go back

to where the sky was inside us

animals ran through us, our hands

blessed and killed according to our

wisdom, death

made real blood come out

But face it, we have been

improved, our heads float

several inches above our necks

moored to us by

rubber tubes and filled with

clever bubbles,

our bodies

are populated with billions

of soft pink numbers

multiplying and analyzing

themselves, perfecting

their own demands, no trouble to anyone.

I love you by

sections and when you work.

Do you want to be illiterate?

This is the way it is, get used to it.

Their attitudes differ

1

To understand

each other: anything

but that, & to avoid it

I will suspend my search for

germs if you will keep

your fingers off the microfilm

hidden inside my skin

2

I approach this love

like a biologist

pulling on my rubber

gloves & white labcoat

You flee from it

like an escaped political

prisoner, and no wonder

3

You held out your hand

I took your fingerprints

You asked for love

I gave you only descriptions

Please die I said

so I can write about it

They travel by air

A different room, this month

a worse one, where your

body with head

attached and my head with

body attached coincide briefly

I want questions and you want

only answers, but the building

is warming up, there is not much

time and time is not

fast enough for us any

more, the building sweeps

away, we are off course, we

separate, we hurtle towards each other

at the speed of sound, everything roars

we collide sightlessly and

fall, the pieces of us

mixed as disaster

and hit the pavement of this room

in a blur of silver fragments

not the shore but an aquarium

filled with exhausted water and warm

seaweed

glass clouded

with dust and algae

tray

with the remains of dinner

smells of salt carcasses and uneaten shells

sunheat comes from wall

grating              no breeze

you sprawl across

the bed like a marooned

starfish

you are sand-

coloured

on my back

your hand floats belly up

You have made your escape,

your known addresses

crumple in the wind, the city

unfreezes with relief

traffic shifts back

to its routines, the swollen

buildings return to

normal, I walk believably

from house to store, nothing

remembers you but the bruises

on my thighs and the inside of my skull.

Because you are never here

but always there, I forget

not you but what you look like

You drift down the street

in the rain, your face

dissolving, changing shape, the colours

running together

My walls absorb

you, breathe you forth

again, you resume

yourself, I do not recognize you

You rest on the bed

watching me watching

you, we will never know

each other any better

than we do now

Imperialist, keep off

the trees I said.

No use: you walk backwards,

admiring your own footprints.

After all you are quite

ordinary: 2 arms 2 legs

a head, a reasonable

body, toes & fingers, a few

eccentricities, a few honesties

but not too many, too many

postponements & regrets but

you’ll adjust to it, meeting

deadlines and other

people, pretending to love

the wrong woman some of the

time, listening to your brain

shrink, your diaries

expanding as you grow older,

growing older, of course you’ll

die but not yet, you’ll outlive

even my distortions of you

and there isn’t anything

I want to do about the fact

that you are unhappy & sick

you aren’t sick & unhappy

only alive & stuck with it.

Small tactics

1

These days my fingers bleed

even before I bite them

Can’t play it safe, can’t play

at all any more

Let’s go back please

to the games, they were

more fun and less painful

2

You too have your gentle

moments, you too have

eyelashes, each of your eyes

is a different colour

in the half light

your body stutters against

me, tentative as moths, your

skin is nervous

I touch

your mouth, I don’t

want to hurt

you any more

now than I have to

3

Waiting for news of you

which does not come, I have to

guess you

You are

in the city, climbing the stairs

already, that is you at the door

or you have gone, your last

message to me left

illegible on the mountain

road, quick

scribble of glass and blood

4

For stones, opening

is not easy

Staying closed is

less pain but

your anger finally

is more dangerous

To be picked up and thrown

(you won’t stop) against

the ground, picked up

and thrown again and again

5

It’s getting bad, you weren’t

there again

Wire silences, you trying

to think of something you haven’t

said, at least to me

Me trying to give

the impression it isn’t

getting bad         at least

not yet

6

I walk the cell, open the window,

shut the window, the little

motors click

and whir, I turn on all the

taps and switches

I take pills, I drink water, I kneel

O electric lights

that shine on my suitcases and my fears

Let me stop caring

about anything but skinless

wheels and smoothly

running money

Get me out of this trap, this

body, let me be

like you, closed and useful

7

What do you expect after this?

Applause? Your name on stone?

You will have nothing

but me and in a worse way than before,

my face packed in cotton

in a white gift box, the features

dissolving and re-forming so quickly

I seem only to flicker.

There are better ways of doing this

It would be so good if you’d

only stay up there

where I put you, I could

believe, you’d solve

most of my religious problems

you have to admit it’s easier

when you’re somewhere else

but today it’s this

deserted mattress, music over-

heard through the end wall, you giving me

a hard time again for the fun

of it or just for

the publicity, when we leave each other

it will be so

we can say we did.

yes at first you

go down smooth as

pills, all of me

breathes you in and then it’s

a kick in the head, orange

and brutal, sharp jewels

hit and my

hair splinters

the adjectives

fall away from me, no

threads left holding

me, I flake apart

layer by

layer down

quietly to the bone, my skull

unfolds to an astounded flower

regrowing the body, learning

speech again takes

days and longer

each time / too much of

this is fatal

The accident has occurred,

the ship has broken, the motor

of the car has failed, we have been

separated from the others,

we are alone in the sand, the ocean,

the frozen snow

I remember what I have to do

in order to stay alive,

I take stock of our belongings

most of them useless

I know I should be digging shelters,

killing seabirds and making

clothes from their feathers,

cutting the rinds from cacti, chewing

roots for water, scraping through

the ice for treebark, for moss

but I rest here without power

to save myself, tasting

salt in my mouth, the fact that

you won’t save me

watching the mirage of us

hands locked, smiling,

as it fades into the white desert.

I touch you, straighten the sheet, you turn over

in the bed, tender

sun comes through the curtains

Which of us will survive

which of us will survive the other

1

We are hard on each other

and call it honesty,

choosing our jagged truths

with care and aiming them across

the neutral table.

The things we say are

true; it is our crooked

aims, our choices

turn them criminal.

2

Of course your lies

are more amusing:

you make them new each time.

Your truths, painful and boring

repeat themselves over & over

perhaps because you own

so few of them

3

A truth should exist,

it should not be used

like this. If I love you

is that a fact or a weapon?

4

Does the body lie

moving like this, are these

touches, hairs, wet

soft marble my tongue runs over

lies you are telling me?

Your body is not a word,

it does not lie or

speak truth either.

It is only

here or not here.

He shifts from east to west

Because we have no history

I construct one for you

making use of what

there is, parts of other people’s

lives, paragraphs

I invent, now and then

an object, a watch, a picture

you claim as yours

(What did go on in that red

brick building with the fire

escape? Which river?)

(You said you took

the boat, you forget too much.)

I locate you on streets, in cities

I’ve never seen, you walk

against a background crowded

with lifelike detail

which crumbles and turns grey

when I look too closely.

Why should I need

to explain you, perhaps

this is the right place for you

The mountains in this hard

clear vacancy are blue tin

edges, you appear

without prelude midway between

my eyes and the nearest trees,

your colours bright, your

outline flattened

suspended in the air with no more

reason for occurring

exactly here than this billboard,

this highway or that cloud.

At first I was given centuries

to wait in caves, in leather

tents, knowing you would never come back

Then it speeded up: only

several years between

the day you jangled off

into the mountains, and the day (it was

spring again) I rose from the embroidery

frame at the messenger’s entrance.

That happened twice, or was it

more; and there was once, not so

long ago, you failed,

and came back in a wheelchair

with a moustache and a sunburn

and were insufferable.

Time before last though, I remember

I had a good eight months between

running alongside the train, skirts hitched, handing

you violets in at the window

and opening the letter; I watched

your snapshot fade for twenty years.

And last time (I drove to the airport

still dressed in my factory

overalls, the wrench

I had forgotten sticking out of the back

pocket; there you were,

zippered and helmeted, it was zero

hour, you said Be

Brave) it was at least three weeks before

I got the telegram and could start regretting.

But recently, the bad evenings

there are only seconds

between the warning on the radio and the

explosion; my hands

don’t reach you

and on quieter nights

you jump up from

your chair without even touching your dinner

and I can scarcely kiss you goodbye

before you run out into the street and they shoot

You refuse to own

yourself, you permit

others to do it for you:

you become slowly more public,

in a year there will be nothing left

of you but a megaphone

or you will descend through the roof

with the spurious authority of a

government official,

blue as a policeman, grey as a used angel,

having long forgotten the difference

between an annunciation and a parking ticket

or you will be slipped under

the door, your skin furred with cancelled

airmail stamps, your kiss no longer literature

but fine print, a set of instructions.

If you deny these uniforms

and choose to repossess

yourself, your future

will be less dignified, more painful, death will be sooner,

(it is no longer possible

to be both human and alive): lying piled with

the others, your face and body

covered so thickly with scars

only the eyes show through.

We hear nothing these days

from the ones in power

Why talk when you are a shoulder

or a vault

Why talk when you are

helmeted with numbers

Fists have many forms;

a fist knows what it can do

without the nuisance of speaking:

it grabs and smashes.

From those inside or under

words gush like toothpaste.

Language, the fist

proclaims by squeezing

is for the weak only.

You did it

it was you who started the countdown

and you conversely

on whom the demonic number

zero descended in the form of an egg

bodied machine

coming at you like a

football or a bloated thumb

and it was you whose skin

fell off bubbling

all at once when the fence

accidentally touched you

and you also who laughed

when you saw it happen.

When will you learn

the flame and the wood/flesh

it burns are whole and the same?

You attempt merely power

you accomplish merely suffering

How long do you expect me to wait

while you cauterize your

senses, one

after another

turning yourself to an

impervious glass tower?

How long will you demand I love you?

I’m through, I won’t make

any more flowers for you

I judge you as the trees do

by dying

your back is rough all

over like a cat’s tongue / I stroke

you lightly and you shiver

you clench yourself, withhold

even your flesh

outline / pleasure is what

you take but will not accept.

believe me, allow

me to touch you

gently, it may be the last

time / your closed eyes beat

against my fingers

I slip my hand down

your neck, rest on the pulse

you pull away

there is something in your throat that wants

to get out and you won’t let it.

This is a mistake,

these arms and legs

that don’t work any more

Now it’s broken

and no space for excuses.

The earth doesn’t comfort,

it only covers up

if you have the decency to stay quiet

The sun doesn’t forgive,

it looks and keeps going.

Night seeps into us

through the accidents we have

inflicted on each other

Next time we commit

love, we ought to

choose in advance what to kill.

Beyond truth,

tenacity: of those

dwarf trees & mosses,

hooked into straight rock

believing the sun’s lies & thus

refuting / gravity

& of this cactus, gathering

itself together

against the sand, yes tough

rind & spikes but doing

the best it can

They are hostile nations

1

In view of the fading animals

the proliferation of sewers and fears

the sea clogging, the air

nearing extinction

we should be kind, we should

take warning, we should forgive each other

Instead we are opposite, we

touch as though attacking,

the gifts we bring

even in good faith maybe

warp in our hands to

implements, to manoeuvres

2

Put down the target of me

you guard inside your binoculars,

in turn I will surrender

this aerial photograph

(your vulnerable

sections marked in red)

I have found so useful

See, we are alone in

the dormant field, the snow

that cannot be eaten or captured

3

Here there are no armies

here there is no money

It is cold and getting colder

We need each others’

breathing, warmth, surviving

is the only war

we can afford, stay

walking with me, there is almost

time / if we can only

make it as far as

the (possibly) last summer

Returning from the dead

used to be something I did well

I began asking why

I began forgetting how

Spring again, can I stand it

shooting its needles into

the earth, my head, both

used to darkness

Snow on brown soil and

the squashed caterpillar

coloured liquid lawn

Winter collapses

in slack folds around

my feet / no leaves yet / loose fat

Thick lilac buds crouch for the

spurt but I

hold back

Not ready / help me

what I want from you is

moonlight smooth as

wind, long hairs of water

This year I intended children

a space where I could raise

foxes and strawberries, finally

be reconciled to fur seeds & burrows

but the entrails of dead cards

are against me, foretell

it will be water, the

element that shaped

me, that I shape by

being in

It is the blue

cup, I fill it

it is the pond again

where the children, looking from

the side of the boat, see their mother

upside down, lifesize, hair streaming

over the slashed throat

and words fertilize each other

in the cold and with bulging eyes

I am sitting on the

edge of the impartial

bed, I have been turned to crystal, you enter

bringing love in the form of

a cardboard box (empty)

a pocket (empty)

some hands (also empty)

Be careful I say but

how can you

the empty

thing comes out of your hands, it

fills the room slowly, it is

a pressure, a lack of

pressure

Like a deep sea

creature with glass bones and wafer

eyes drawn

to the surface, I break

open, the pieces of me

shine briefly in your empty hands

I see you fugitive, stumbling across the prairie,

lungs knotted by thirst, sunheat

nailing you down, all the things

after you that can be after you

with their clamps and poisoned mazes

Should I help you?

Should I make you a mirage?

My right hand unfolds rivers

around you, my left hand releases its trees,

I speak rain,

I spin you a night and you hide in it.

Now you have one enemy

instead of many.

We are standing facing each other

in an eighteenth century room

with fragile tables and mirrors

in carved frames; the curtains,

red brocade, are drawn

the doors are shut, you aren’t talking,

the chandeliers aren’t talking, the carpets

also remain silent.

You stay closed, your skin

is buttoned firmly around you,

your mouth is a tin decoration,

you are in the worst possible taste.

You are fake as the marble trim

around the fireplace, there is nothing

I wouldn’t do to be away

from here.        I do nothing

because the light changes, the tables

and mirrors radiate from around you,

you step backwards away from me

the length of the room

holding cupped in your hands

behind your back

an offering

a gold word        a signal

I need more than

air, blood, it would open

everything

which you won’t let me see.

Sleeping in sunlight

(you occupy

me so completely

run through my brain as warm

chemicals and melted

gold, spread out wings to the

ends of my fingers

reach my heart and

stop, digging your claws in

If a bird what kind /

nothing I have ever

seen in air / you fly

through earth and water casting

a red shadow

The door wakes me, this is

your jewelled reptilian

eye in darkness next to

mine, shining feathers of

hair sift over my forehead

What is it, it does not

move like love, it does

not want to know, it

does not want to stroke, unfold

it does not even want to

touch, it is more like

an animal (not

loving) a

thing trapped, you move

wounded, you are hurt, you hurt,

you want to get out, you want

to tear yourself out, I am

the outside, I am snow and

space, pathways, you gather

yourself, your muscles

clutch, you move

into me as though I

am (wrenching

your way through, this is

urgent, it is your

life) the

last chance for freedom

You are the sun

in reverse, all energy

flows into you and is

abolished; you refuse

houses, you smell of

catastrophe, I see you

blind and one-handed, flashing

in the dark, trees breaking

under your feet, you demand,

you demand

I lie mutilated beside

you; beneath us there are

sirens, fires, the people run

squealing, the city

is crushed and gutted,

the ends of your fingers bleed

from 1000 murders

Putting on my clothes

again, retreating, closing doors

I am amazed / I can continue

to think, eat, anything

How can I stop you

Why did I create you

Hesitations outside the door

1

I’m telling the wrong lies,

they are not even useful.

The right lies would at least

be keys, they would open the door.

The door is closed; the chairs,

the tables, the steel bowl, myself

shaping bread in the kitchen, wait

outside it.

2

That was a lie also,

I could go in if I wanted to.

Whose house is this

we both live in

but neither of us owns

How can I be expected

to find my way around

I could go in if I wanted to,

that’s not the point, I don’t have time,

I should be doing something

other than you.

3

What do you want from me

you who walk towards me over the long floor

your arms outstretched, your heart

luminous through the ribs

around your head a crown

of shining blood

This is your castle, this is your metal door,

these are your stairs, your

bones, you twist all possible

dimensions into your own

4

Alternate version: you advance

through the grey streets of this house,

the walls crumble, the dishes

thaw, vines grow

on the softening refrigerator

I say, leave me

alone, this is my winter,

I will stay here if I choose

You will not listen

to resistances, you cover me

with flags, a dark red

season, you delete from me

all other colours

5

Don’t let me do this to you,

you are not those other people,

you are yourself

Take off the signatures, the false

bodies, this love

which does not fit you

This is not a house, there are no doors,

get out while it is

open, while you still can

6

If we make stories for each other

about what is in the room

we will never have to go in.

You say: my other wives

are in there, they are all

beautiful and happy, they love me, why

disturb them

I say: it is only

a cupboard, my collection

of envelopes, my painted

eggs, my rings

In your pockets the thin women

hang on their hooks, dismembered

Around my neck I wear

the head of the beloved, pressed

in the metal retina like a picked flower.

7

Should we go into it

together / If I go into it

with you I will never come out

If I wait outside I can salvage

this house or what is left

of it, I can keep

my candles, my dead uncles

my restrictions

but you will go

alone, either

way is loss

Tell me what it is for

In the room we will find nothing

In the room we will find each other

Lying here, everything in me

brittle and pushing you away

This is not something I

wanted, I tell you

silently, not admitting

the truth of where

I am, so far

up, the sky incredible and dark

blue, each breath

a gift in the steep air

How hard even the boulders

find it to grow here

and I don’t know how to accept

your freedom, I don’t know

what to do with this

precipice, this joy

What do you see, I ask / my voice

absorbed by stone and outer

space / you are asleep, you see

what there is. Beside you

I bend and enter

I look up, you are standing

on the other side of the window

now        your body

glimmers in the dark

room / you rise above me

smooth, chill, stone-

white / you smell of tunnels

you smell of too much time

I should have used leaves

and silver to prevent you

instead I summoned

you are not a bird you do not fly

you are not an animal you do not run

you are not a man

your mouth is nothingness

where it touches me I vanish

you descend on me like age

you descend on me like earth

I can’t tell you my name:

you don’t believe I have one

I can’t warn you this boat is falling

you planned it that way

You’ve never had a face

but you know that appeals to me

You are old enough to be my

skeleton: you know that also.

I can’t tell you I don’t want you

the sea is on your side

You have the earth’s nets

I have only a pair of scissors.

When I look for you I find

water or moving shadow

There is no way I can lose you

when you are lost already.

They were all inaccurate:

the hinged bronze man, the fragile man

built of glass pebbles,

the fanged man with his opulent capes and boots

peeling away from you in scales.

It was my fault but you helped,

you enjoyed it.

Neither of us will enjoy

the rest: you following me

down streets, hallways, melting

when I touch you,

avoiding the sleeves of the bargains

I hold out for you,

your face corroded by truth,

crippled, persistent. You ask

like the wind, again and

again and wordlessly, for the one forbidden thing:

love without mirrors and not for

my reasons but your own.

He is last seen

1

You walk towards me

carrying a new death

which is mine and no-one else’s;

Your face is silver

and flat, scaled like a fish

The death you bring me

is curved, it is the shape

of doorknobs, moons

glass paperweights

Inside it, snow and lethal

flakes of gold fall endlessly

over an ornamental scene,

a man and woman, hands joined and running

2

Nothing I can do will slow you

down, nothing

will make you arrive any sooner

You are serious, a gift-bearer,

you set one foot

in front of the other

through the weeks and months, across

the rocks, up from

the pits and starless

deep nights of the sea

towards firm ground and safety.

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

He reappears

She considers evading him

They eat out

He is a strange biological phenomenon

Their attitudes differ

They travel by air

Small tactics

There are better ways of doing this

He shifts from east to west

They are hostile nations

Hesitations outside the door

He is last seen