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A Bus Along St Clair-Margaret Atwood

It would take more then that to banish
Me; this is my kingdom still.

Turn, look up
Through the gritty window: an unexplored
Wilderness of wires

Though they buried me in monuments
Of concrete slabs, of cables
Though they molded a pyramid
Of cold light over my head
Though they said, We will build
Silver paradise with a bulldozer

It shows how little they know
About vanishing: I have
My ways of getting through.

Right now, the snow
is no more familiar
to you then it was to me:
this is my doing.
The grey air, the roar
Going on behind it
Are no more familiar.

I am the old woman
Sitting across from you on the bus,
Her shoulders drawn up like a shawl;
Out of her eyes come secret
Hatpins, destroying
The walls, the ceiling

Turn, look down;
There is no city;
This is the centre of a forest

Your place is empty

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