Poetry Corner Monday

I know, I know. You were hoping I'd forgotten about Poetry Corner Monday. Well, in fact, I did. But I just remembered and guess what: it's baaaack! You're welcome.

I read this poem tonight and, as my ninth grade English teacher would say, it spoke to my truth. Not historically a hater of mornings, I have grown to resent daybreak with a passion that surprises me. This poem is a reminder that there's always something worthwhile to get out of bed for. Granted, I'm still going to be pissed when my alarm goes off tomorrow, and I'm still going to spend 20 minutes denying that any good will come of me throwing back my covers, but for now I like to think that these lines will change something in me.

Up
Margaret Atwood

You wake up filled with dread.
There seems no reason for it.
Morning light sifts through the window,
there is birdsong,
you can't get out of bed.

It's something about the crumpled sheets
hanging over the edge like jungle
foliage, the terry slippers gaping
their dark pink mouths for your feet,
the unseen breakfast--some of it
in the refrigerator you do not dare
to open--you will not dare to eat.

What prevents you? The future. The future tense,
immense as outer space.
You could get lost there.
No. Nothing is so simple. The past, its density
and drowned events pressing you down,
like sea water, like gelatin
filling your lungs instead of air.

Forget all that and let's get up.
Try moving your arm.
Try moving your head.
Pretend the house is on fire
and you must run or burn.
No, that one's useless.
It's never worked before.

Where is it coming from, this echo,
this huge No that surrounds you,
silent as the folds of the yellow
curtains, mute as the cheerful

Mexican bowl with its cargo
of mummified flowers?
(You chose the colours of the sun,
not the dried neutrals of shadow.
God knows you've tried.)

Now here's a good one:
you're lying on your deathbed.
You have one hour to live.
Who is it, exactly, you have needed
all these years to forgive?