bad, so they are better left unsaid. They are better left unsaying. But they were never happy, they always wanted more, they were always hungry. They can smell the words, the words coming out of your mouth all warm and yeasty. They want some words of their own. They’ll be back.
4.
This is my friend, these are her bones, these ashes we pour out under the tulips. When she fell down on the sidewalk her hipbone shattered. It was hollow in there, eaten away, like a tree with ants. Bone meal.
They put her in the hospital and I went to see her. I’m terrified, she said, but it’s sort of interesting. My turds are white, like bird turds. It’s calcium. I’m dissolving myself, I’m shitting bones. I guess you can do worse than be fertilizer. Other things can grow.
We are both fond of gardens.
5.
Today I speak to my bones as I would speak to a dog. I want to go up the stairs, I tell them. Up, up, up, with one leg dragging. Is the ache deep in the bones, this elusive pain? Does that mean it will rain?Good bones,
good
bones, I coax, wondering how to reward them; if they will sit up for me, beg, roll over, do one more trick, once more.
There. We’re at the top.
Good
bones! Good
bones!
Keep on going.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Margaret Atwood is the author of more than thirty books of fiction, poetry, and literary criticism. Among her recent works are the novels
The Handmaid’s Tale, Cat’s Eye, The Robber Bride, Alias Grace
, and, most recently, the Booker Prize winner
The Blind Assassin
. She lives in Toronto with the novelist Graeme Gibson and their daughter, Jess.
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