Margaret Atwood
Night Poem
There is nothing to be afraid of
It is only the wind
Changing to the east, it is only
Your father the thunder
Your mother the rain
In this country of water
With its beige moon damp as a mushroom
Its drowned stumps and long birds
That swim, where the moss grows
On all sides of the trees
And your shadow is not your shadow
But your reflection
Your true parents disappear
When the curtain covers your door
We are the others
The ones from under the lake
Who stand silently beside your bed
With our heads of darkness
We have come to cover you
With red wool
With our tears and distant whipers
You rock in the rain's arms
The chilly ark of your sleep
While we wait, your night
Father and mother
With our cold hands and dead flashlight
Knowing we are only
The wavering shadows thrown
By one candle, in this echo
You will hear twenty years later