Dearly: New Poems

by Margaret Atwood

If you were a song What song would you be? Would you be the voice that sings, Would you be the music? When I am singing this song for you You are not empty air You are here, One breath and then another: You are here with me . . .

These were the kinds of stories we used to tell. They were comforting in a way because they said everyone has to be somewhere. But the dear ones, where are they? Where? Where? After a while You sound like a bird. You stop, but the sorrow goes on calling. It leaves you and flies out over the cold night fields, searching and searching, over the rivers, over the emptied air.