Postcards by Margaret Atwood
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]I’m thinking about you. What else can I say? The palm trees on the reverse are a delusion; so is the pink sand. What we…
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]I’m thinking about you. What else can I say? The palm trees on the reverse are a delusion; so is the pink sand. What we…
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]When the gardener has gone this garden Looks wistful and seems waiting an event. It is so spruce, a metaphor of Eden And even more…
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]There’s a breathless hush on the freeway tonight Beyond the ledges of concrete restaurants fall into dreams with candlelight couples Lost Alexandria still burns in…
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Today the Masons are auctioning their discarded pomp: a trunk of turbans, gemmed and ostrich-plumed, and operetta costumes labeled inside the collar “Potentate” and “Vizier.”…
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Oh strong-ridged and deeply hollowed nose of mine! what will you not be smelling? What tactless asses we are, you and I, boney nose, always…
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]There was an apple tree in the yard — this would have been forty years ago — behind, only meadows. Drifts of crocus in the…
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text] He who binds to himself a joy Does the winged life destroy; But he who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity’s…