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I've moved to another two blogs, one on writing, and one on general stuff like this one. Please come visit! MY NEW BLOGS:

http://amydeardon1.blogspot.com

http://thestorytemplate.blogspot.com


Thursday, July 31, 2008

Spooky

I came across this -- I guess it's a poem -- and thought I'd share it with you, my dear friends. It appeals to my darker, sadder, nature. What kind of story might this make?

This is a Photograph of Me
by Margaret Atwood

It was taken some time ago.
At first it seems to be
a smeared
print: blurred lines and grey flecks
blended with the paper;

then, as you scan
it, you see in the left-hand corner
a thing that is like a branch: part of a
tree
(balsam or spruce) emerging
and, to the right, halfway up
what ought to be a gentle
slope, a small frame house.

In the background there is a lake,
and beyond that, some low hills.

(The photograph was taken
the day after I drowned.
I am in the lake, in the center
of the picture, just under the surface.

It is difficult to say where
precisely, or to say
how large or small I am:
the effect of water
on light is a distortion

but if you look long enough,
eventually
you will be able to see me.)

2 comments:

barrydean said...

Brrrrrr! Weird for sure. On the lighter side it reminds me of an old joke about what some old -timers sitting and talking about what they would like folks to say at their funeral. One guy says I'd like for them to say "He was a wonderful family man, loved his wife, and children." Another one says "He was a pillar of the community, and left his mark here in this world." The last one says, All that is fine a dandy but I would just like for someone to say "Hey, look, I think he moved!"

Amy Deardon said...

:-)