Habitation
by Margaret Atwood
Marriage is not
a house or even a tentit is before that, and colder:
the edge of the forest, the edge
of the desert
the unpainted stairs
at the back where we squat
outside, eating popcornthe edge of the receding glacier
where painfully and with wonder
at having survived even
this farwe are learning to make fire
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Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Oh, yes. I do so love her poems. She goes right in my head and finds what I think, and brings it out, and surprises me every single time. Thank you.