A Sad Child by Margaret Atwood

You're sad because you're sad. 


It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical. 


Go see a shrink or take a pill, 


or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll 


you need to sleep. 



Well, all children are sad 


but some get over it. 


Count your blessings. Better than that, 


buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet. 


Take up dancing to forget. 



Forget what? 


Your sadness, your shadow, 


whatever it was that was done to you 


the day of the lawn party 


when you came inside flushed with the sun, 


your mouth sulky with sugar, 


in your new dress with the ribbon 


and the ice-cream smear, 


and said to yourself in the bathroom, 


I am not the favorite child. 



My darling, when it comes 


right down to it 


and the light fails and the fog rolls in 


and you're trapped in your overturned body 


under a blanket or burning car, 



and the red flame is seeping out of you 


and igniting the tarmac beside your head 


or else the floor, or else the pillow, 


none of us is; 


or else we all are.

~ Margaret Atwood

pearlie