The Moment

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.

by Margaret Atwood

Comments (5)

And life goes on for everyone in different ways... Thanks for bringing lives that we don't think about much to life in your poetry, Charlie. You know, everyone was a baby once (do you know what I mean?) Esther : ]
I loved this - your compassion extends to all mankind, I think. Besides, it was just a great read. Your poetry is so lyrical, I'm just envious for a bit. Then grateful for the experience.
Nice flow and use of the rhymes and repeated lines. Sounds almost like a song. -chuck
Restless spirit, nicely written Patricia
I enjoyed this...really great...take care, amanda