Friday, May 6, 2016

#Read a #poem Friday

The animals in that country

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In that country the animals 
have the faces of people: 

the ceremonial 
cats possessing the streets 

the fox run 
politely to earth, the huntsmen 
standing around him, fixed 
in their tapestry of manners 

the bull, embroidered 
with blood and given 
an elegant death, trumpets, his name 
stamped on him, heraldic brand 

(when he rolled 
on the sand, sword in his heart, the teeth 
in his blue mouth were human) 

he is really a man 

even the wolves, holding resonant 
conversations in their 
forests thickened with legend. 

            In this country the animals 
            have the faces of 

            Their eyes 
            flash once in car headlights 
            and are gone. 

            Their deaths are not elegant. 

            They have the faces of 

Learn more about Atwood and this poem here.

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