The Moment by Margaret Atwood

treesonhill

The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,

is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can’t breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.

Looking in the Mirror

GirlAtMirror
(image credit: Norman Rockwell)

Have you ever felt like you are someone else
looking in
looking out

You hear chatter and see smiles
volume up
volume down

You see motion
stepping fast
stepping slow

But what do you see
as time and distance strain
and fade away

What do you hear
as blasts turn to whispers
and fade away

What do you feel
as shaking turns to quivers
and fade away

someone in the mirror
fading away