Poem for Project 3

Morning In The Burned House



In the burned house I am eating breakfast.

You understand: there is no house, there is no breakfast,

yet here I am.



The spoon which was melted scrapes against

the bowl which was melted also.

No one else is around.



Where have they gone to, brother and sister,

mother and father? Off along the shore,

perhaps. Their clothes are still on the hangers,



their dishes piled beside the sink,

which is beside the woodstove

with its grate and sooty kettle,



every detail clear,

tin cup and rippled mirror.

The day is bright and songless,



the lake is blue, the forest watchful.

In the east a bank of cloud

rises up silently like dark bread.



I can see the swirls in the oilcloth,

I can see the flaws in the glass,

those flares where the sun hits them.



I can't see my own arms and legs

or know if this is a trap or blessing,

finding myself back here, where everything



in this house has long been over,

kettle and mirror, spoon and bowl,

including my own body,



including the body I had then,

including the body I have now

as I sit at this morning table, alone and happy,



bare child's feet on the scorched floorboards

(I can almost see)

in my burning clothes, the thin green shorts



and grubby yellow T-shirt

holding my cindery, non-existent,

radiant flesh. Incandescent.



Margaret Atwood

I find this poem fascinating because it touches on such as sad topic and evokes such strong images. However, despite being so dark, the narrator describes death in a somewhat existential or even positive light (she uses terms like “radiant flesh” and “incandescent” to describe such a brutal death). I've thought long and hard about how I should approach this project, and I eventually decided that I will create a traditional book format. This poem is very visual, so I plan on illustrating some of the images that are described. I would like to illustrate by hand with India ink, and then scan that in to incorporate with the text. Once printed out, I would like to attempt to burn the edges of the paper. I especially like the idea such ordinary objects being touched by disaster in the poem, and I would like to illustrate that by literally burning some of what I create. I would like this book to appear as though it was a part of the burned house which is described in the poem.