poetry thursday

If I were ever to encounter a magic lantern, decide to pick up and rub said lantern, and then find myself face-to-face with a giant Persian genie who's offering to grant three of my wishes, I would - after emerging from my state of shock and fear-induced paralysis - probably ask for the following: (1) proper leadership for all citizens everywhere, (2) my own, personal robotic servant, and (3) to be able to write as pretty as Margaret Atwood.

Not that you asked, but it's true all the same.

Variations on the Word Sleep
- Margaret Atwood

I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.