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| Margaret Atwood |
(1974)
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| IS/NOT | ||||
| Love is not a profession genteel or otherwise sex is not a dentistry the slick filling of aches and cavities you are not my doctor you are not my cure, nobody has that power, you are merely a fellow/traveller. Give up this medical concern, buttoned, attentive, which needs neither your approval nor your surprise which does not need to be made legal which is not against a disease but against you, which does not need to be understood or washed or cauterized, which needs instead to be said and said. Permit me the present tense. ii I am not a saint or a cripple, I am not a wound; now I will see whether I am a coward. I dispose of my good manners, you don´t have to kiss my wrists. This is a journey, not a war, there is no outcome, I renounce predictions and aspirins, I resign the future as I would resign an expired passport: picture and signature are gone along with holidays and safe returns. We´re stuck here on this side of the border in this country of thumbed streets and stale buildings where there is nothing spectacular to see and the weather is ordinary where love occurs in its pure form only on the cheaper of the souvenirs where we must walk slowly, where we may not get anywhere or anything, where we keep going, fighting our way not out but through. |
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