Margaret Atwood - The Handmaid's Tale - Chapter 13 lyrics

There's time to spare this is
One of the things i wasn't prepared for the
Amount of unfilled time
The long parentheses of nothing time as
White sound if only I
Could embroider weave, knit
Something to do with
My hands i want a cigarette i
Remember walking in art galleries
Through the nineteenth century: the
Obsession they had then with harems
Dozens of paintings of harems
Fat women lolling on
Divans, turbans on their heads or velvet
Caps, being fanned with peacock tails
A eunuch in the background standing
Guard studies of sedentary flesh
Painted by men who'd never been there these
Pictures were supposed to be erotic
And I thought they were
At the time but I see now what
They were really about they were paintings
About suspended animation about waiting
About objects not in
Use they were paintings about
Boredom but maybe
Boredom is erotic, when women do it, for men

I wait, washed, brushed, fed
Like a prize pig
Sometime in the eighties they
Invented pig balls
For pigs who were being fattened
In pens pig balls
Were large colored balls the pigs rolled
Them around with their snouts the
Pig marketers said this improved their muscle
Tone the pigs were curious
They liked to have something to think about
I read about that in
Introduction to Psychology that
And the chapter on caged rats who'd give
Themselves electric shocks for
Something to do and the one on the pigeons
Trained to peck a button that made
A grain of corn appear three
Groups of them: the first got one grain per
Peck, the second one grain every other peck
The third was random when the man
In charge cut off the grain, the first group
Gave up quite soon
The second group a little
Later the third group
Never gave up they'd peck
Themselves to death
Rather than quit who knew what worked?
I wish I had a pig ball

I lie down on the braided rug you can always
Practice, said Aunt Lydia several
Sessions a day
Fitted into your daily routine arms
At the sides, knees bent, lift the pelvis
Roll the backbone down
Tuck again breathe in to the
Count of five, hold
Expel we'd do that in what
Used to be the Domestic Science room
Cleared now of sewing machines and
Washer-dryers in unison, lying on little
Japanese mats, a tape playing, les Sylphides
That's what I hear now, in my
Head, as I lift, tilt, breathe
Behind my closed eyes thin white dancers
Flit gracefully among the trees
Their legs fluttering like the
Wings of held birds

In the afternoons we lay on our beds
For an hour in the gymnasium
Between three and four they said
It was a period
Of rest and meditation i thought then they
Did it because they wanted some time
Off themselves, from teaching us
And I know the
Aunts not on duty went off to the
Teachers' room for a cup of coffee
Or whatever they called by that name but
Now I think that the rest also
Was practice they were giving us a chance
To get used to blank time
A catnap, Aunt Lydia called it
In her coy way
The strange thing is we needed
The rest many of
Us went to sleep we were tired there
A lot of the time we were on
Some kind of pill or drug
I think, they put it in the food
To keep us calm but maybe not maybe
It was the place it'self after the first
Shock, after you'd come to terms
It was better to be lethargic you could tell
Yourself you were saving up your strength
I must have been there three
Weeks when Moira came she
Was brought into the gymnasium by
Two of the Aunts, in the usual
Way, while we were having our nap
She still had her other
Clothes on, jeans and a blue
Sweatshirt her hair was short
She'd defied fashion as usual so
I recognized her at once
She saw me too, but she turned away
She already knew what
Was safe there was a bruise
On her left cheek
Turning purple the Aunts took her to
A vacant bed where the red dress
Was already laid out she undressed, began to
Dress again, in silence, the Aunts standing
At the end of the bed
The rest of us watching from inside
Our slitted eyes as she
Bent over I could see the knobs on her spine
I couldn't talk to her for
Several days we looked only
Small glances, like sips friendships were
Suspicious, we knew it
We avoided each other during
The mealtime line-ups in the cafeteria and
In the halls between classes but
On the fourth day she was
Beside me during the walk, two by
Two around the football field we weren't
Given the white wings until
We graduated, we had only the
Veils so we could talk, as long as
We did it quietly and didn't turn
To look at one another the
Aunts walked at the head of the
Line and at the end
So the only danger was from the others
Some were believers and might report us
This is a loony bin, Moira said
I'm so glad to see you, I said
Where can we talk? said Moira
Washroom, I said watch the clock end stall
Two-thirty that was all we said
It makes me feel safer
That Moira is here we can
Go to the washroom if we put our hands up
Though
There's a limit to how many times a day
They mark
It down on a chart i watch the clock
Electric and round
At the front over the green blackboard
Two-thirty comes during Testifying aunt
Helena is here, as well as
Aunt Lydia, because Testifying is special
Aunt Helena is fat, she
Once headed a Weight Watchers'
Franchise operation in Iowa
She's good at Testifying it's Janine
Telling about how she was gang raped
At fourteen and had an abortion
She told the same story last week
She seemed almost proud of it, while she
Was telling it may not even
Be true at Testifying
It's safer to make things
Up than to say you have nothing
To reveal but since it's Janine
It's probably more or less true
But whose fault was it? Aunt Helena says
Holding up one plump finger
Her fault, her fault, her fault
We chant in unison
Who led them on? Aunt Helena beams, please
D with us she did she did she did
Why did God allow such a
Terrible thing to happen?
Teach her a lesson teach her a
Lesson teach her a lesson last week
Janine burst into tears aunt
Helena made her kneel
At the front of the classroom
Hands behind her back, where we
Could all see her
Her red face and dripping nose her hair
Dull blond, her eyelashes so light
They seemed not there, the
Lost eyelashes of someone who's been
In a fire burned
Eyes she looked disgusting: weak
Squirmy, blotchy, pink
Like a newborn mouse none
Of us wanted to look like
That, ever for a moment
Even though we knew what was
Being done to her, we despised her
Crybaby crybaby crybaby
We meant it, which is the bad part
I used to think well of myself i didn't then
That was last week this week
Janine doesn't wait for
Us to jeer at her it was my fault
She says it was my own fault i
Led them on i deserved the pain
Very good, Janine
Says Aunt Lydia you are an example
I have to wait until this is
Over before I put up
My hand sometimes, if you ask
At the wrong moment
They say no if you really have to go
That can be crucial yesterday Dolores wet
The floor two Aunts hauled her away
A hand under each armpit she wasn't there
For the afternoon walk
But at night she was back in her usual
Bed all night we could hear her moaning
Off and on
What did they do to her? We whispered
From bed to bed i don't know
Not knowing makes it worse
I raise my hand, Aunt Lydia nods i stand
Up and walk out into the hall
As inconspicuously as possible outside
The washroom Aunt
Elizabeth is standing guard she nods
Signaling that I can go in
This washroom used to be for boys the
Mirrors have been replaced here too by
Oblongs of dull gray metal, but the urinals
Are still there, on one wall
White enamel with yellow stains
They look oddly like
Babies' coffins i marvel again
At the nakedness
Of men's lives: the showers right out in the
Open, the body exposed for
Inspection and comparison
The public display of privates what
Is it for? What purposes of
Reassurance does it serve? The
Flashing of a badge, look, everyone
All is in order
I belong here why don't women have to prove
To one another that they are women?
Some form of unbuttoning
Some split-crotch routine
Just as casual a doglike sniffing
The high school is old
The stalls are wooden, some kind of
Chipboard i go into the second
One from the end, swing the door to
Of course there are no longer any
Locks in the wood there's a
Small hole, at the back, next to
The wall, about waist height
Souvenir of some previous vandalism
Or legacy of
An ancient voyeur everyone in the
Center knows about this hole in the
Woodwork everyone except the Aunts
I'm afraid I am too late, held up by
Janine's Testifying: maybe Moira has
Been here already, maybe she's had
To go back they don't give you much time i
Look carefully down, aslant under
The stall wall
And there are two red shoes but how
Can I tell who it is? I put my mouth to the
Wooden hole moira? I whisper
Is that you? she says
Yes, I say relief goes through me
God, do I need a cigarette, says Moira
Me too, I say i feel ridiculously happy
I sink down into my body as into a swamp
Fenland, where only I know
The footing treacherous ground
My own territory i become
The earth I set my ear against
For rumors of the future
Each twinge, each murmur of slight
Pain, ripples of sloughed-off matter
Swellings and diminishings of tissue, the
Droolings of the flesh, these are
Signs, these are the things I
Need to know about, each month I
Watch for blood, fearfully
For when it comes it means failure i
Have failed once again to fulfill
The expectations of others
Which may have become my own
I used to think of my body as an
Instrument, of pleasure, or a
Means of transportation
Or an implement for the accomplishment
Of my will i
Could use it to run, push buttons
Of one sort or another, make things
Happen there were limit's, but my body
Was nevertheless lithe, single, solid
One with me now the flesh arranges it'self
Differently I'm a cloud, congealed
Around a central object, the shape of a pear
Which is hard and more real than
I am and glows red
Within it's translucent wrapping inside
It is a space, huge as the sky at night and
Dark and curved like that
Though black-red rather
Than black pinpoints of light swell
Sparkle, burst and shrivel within it
Countless as stars
Every month there is a moon, gigantic
Round, heavy, an omen it transit's, pauses
Continues on and passes out of sight
And i see despair coming towards me like
Famine to feel that empty, again, again i
Listen to my heart, wave upon wave, salty
And red, continuing on and on, marking time

I'm in our first apartment, in the bedroom
I'm standing in front of the cupboard
Which has folding doors made of wood
Around me I know it's empty
All the furniture
Is gone, the floors are bare
No carpets even but despite
This the cupboard is
Full of clothes i think they're my clothes
But they don't look like mine
I've never seen them before maybe
They're clothes belonging to Luke's wife
Whom I've also never seen only
Pictures and a voice on
The phone, late at night, when she was
Calling us, before the divorce but no
They're
My clothes all right i need a dress, I
Need something to wear i pull out dresses
Black, blue, purple, jackets
Skirts none of them
Will do, none of them even fit's
They're too big or too small
Luke is there, behind me, I turn to
See him he won't look at me
He looks down at the floor
Where the cat is rubbing it'self against his
Legs, mewing and mewing plaintively
It wants food, but how can there be any food
With the apartment so empty?
Luke, I say he doesn't answer
Maybe he doesn't hear me
It occurs to me that he may not be alive

I'm running, with her, holding her hand
Pulling, dragging her through the bracken
She's only half awake because of
The pill I gave her, so she wouldn't cry or
Say anything that would give us away
She doesn't know where she is the
Ground is uneven, rocks, dead branches, the
Smell of damp earth, old leaves, she
Can't run fast enough, by myself
I could run faster, i'm a good runner now
She's crying, she's frightened
I want to carry her but she would be
Too heavy i have my hiking
Boots on and I think, when we reach
The water I'll have to kick them
Off, will it be too cold, will she be
Able to swim that far, what about the
Current, we weren't expecting this quiet
I say to her angrily i think
About her drowning and this thought
Slows me then the shots come behind us, not
Loud, not like firecrackers, but sharp
And crisp like a dry branch
Snapping it sounds wrong
Nothing ever sounds the way
You think it will, and I
Hear the voice, Down, is it a real voice or
A voice inside my head or my own voice
Out loud? I pull her to the ground and
Roll on top of her to
Cover her, shield her quiet, I say
Again, my face is wet, sweat
Or tears, I feel calm and floating
As if I'm no longer in
My body close to my eyes there's
A leaf, red, turned early
I can see every bright vein it's the
Most beautiful thing I've ever seen
I ease off, I don't want to smother
Her, instead I curl myself around her
Keeping my hand over her mouth there's breath
And the knocking of my heart
Like pounding, at the door of
A house at night
Where you thought you would
Be safe it's all right, I'm here
I say, whisper, Please be quiet, but how
Can she? She's too young, it's too late
We come apart, my arms are held
And the edges go dark and nothing
Is left but a little window, a
Very little window, like the wrong
End of a telescope, like the window on a
Christmas card, an old one, night and
Ice outside, and within a candle, a
Shining tree, a family, I can hear
The bells even, sleigh bells, from
The radio, old music, but through
This window I can see, small but very
Clear, I can see her, going away from me
Through the trees which
Are already turning, red and yellow, holding
Out her arms to me, being carried away

The bell awakens me and then Cora
Knocking at my door i sit up, on the rug
Wipe my wet face with my sleeve of
All the dreams this is the worst