Margaret Atwood, The Guardian, Serena Joy - The Handmaid's Tale - Chapter 3 lyrics

I go out by the back door, into the garden
Which is large and
Tidy: a lawn in the middle, a
Willow, weeping catkins around the edges
The flower borders, in which the daffodils
Are now fading
And the tulips are opening their cups
Spilling out color the tulips are red
A darker crimson towards the stem
As if they have been cut and
Are beginning to heal there
This garden is the domain of
The Commander's Wife looking
Out through my shatterproof window
I've often seen her
In it, her knees on a cushion, a light
Blue veil thrown over her wide gardening hat
A basket at her side
With shears in it and pieces
Of string for tying the
Flowers into place a Guardian
Detailed to the Commander
Does the heavy digging the
Commander's Wife directs, pointing with
Her stick many of the
Wives have such gardens
It's something for them to order
And maintain and care for
I once had a garden i can
Remember the smell of the turned
Earth, the plump shapes of bulbs
Held in the hands, fullness, the dry rustle
Of seeds through the fingers time could pass
More swiftly that way sometimes the
Commander's Wife has a chair brought out
And just sit's in it
In her garden from a distance
It looks like peace she isn't here now
And I start to wonder where she is: I don't
Like to come upon the
Commander's Wife unexpectedly
Perhaps she's sewing, in the sitting room
With her left foot
On the footstool, because of her
Arthritis or knitting scarves
For the Angels at the front lines
I can hardly believe the Angels
Have a need for such scarves anyway
The ones made by the Commander's
Wife are too elaborate she
Doesn't bother with the cross and-star
Pattern used by many of the other Wives
It's not a challenge fir trees
March across the ends
Of her scarves, or eagles, or stiff
Humanoid figures, boy and girl
Boy and girl they aren't scarves for
Grown men but for children
Sometimes I think these scarves aren't
Sent to the Angels at
All, but unravelled and turned back
Into balls of yarn, to be
Knitted again in their turn maybe it's
Just something to keep the
Wives busy, to give them a
Sense of purpose but
I envy the Commander's Wife her
Knitting it's good to
Have small goals that can be easily attained
What does she envy me?
She doesn't speak to me
Unless she can't avoid it i am a
Reproach to her and a necessity

We stood face to face for the
First time five weeks ago
When I arrived at this
Posting the Guardian from
The previous posting brought me to the
Front door on first days we
Are permitted front doors
But after that we're
Supposed to use the back things haven't
Settled down, it's too soon
Everyone is unsure about our exact
Status after a while it
Will be either all front doors or all back
Aunt Lydia said she was lobbying for the
Front yours is a position of honor, she said
The Guardian rang the doorbell for me
But before there was
Time for someone to hear and
Walk quickly to answer
The door opened inward
She must have been waiting behind it
I was expecting a Martha
But it was her instead, in
Her long powder-blue robe, unmistakable
So, you're the new one
She said she didn't step aside to
Let me in, she just stood
There in the doorway, blocking the entrance
She wanted me to feel that I
Could not come into the house
Unless she said so there is
Push and shove, these days
Over such toeholds yes, I said
Leave it on the porch she
Said this to the Guardian
Who was carrying my
Bag the bag was red vinyl and
Not large there was another bag
With the winter cloak and heavier dresses
But that would be coming later
The Guardian set down the bag and saluted
Her then I could hear his footsteps
Behind me, going back down the walk, and
The click of the front gate
And I felt as if a
Protective arm were being withdrawn
The threshold of a new house
Is a lonely place she waited until the car
Started up and pulled
Away i wasn't looking at her face, but
At the part of her I could see with
My head lowered: her blue waist, thickened
Her left hand on the ivory head of her
Cane, the large diamonds on the ring finger
Which must once have been fine and
Was still finely kept, the fingernail
At the end of the knuckly finger filed to a
Gentle curving point it was
Like an ironic smile
On that finger like something mocking her
You might as well come in
She said she turned her back on me and limped
Down the hall shut the door behind you
I lifted my red bag inside
As she'd no doubt intended
Then closed the door i didn't say anything to
Her aunt Lydia said it was best not
To speak unless they asked you a direct
Question try to think of it
From their point of view, she said
Her hands clasped and wrung together
Her nervous pleading smile it
Isn't easy for them in here
Said the Commander's Wife when I went into
The sitting room she was
Already in her chair, her left foot
On the footstool, with it's
Petit point cushion, roses in a
Basket her knitting was on the
Floor beside the chair
The needles stuck through it
I stood in front of her, hands folded
So, she said she had a cigarette
And she put it
Between her lips and gripped it
There while she lit
It her lips were thin, held that way
With the small vertical lines around
Them you used to see
In advertisements for lip cosmetics the
Lighter was ivory colored
The cigarettes must have come from
The black market, I thought, and this
Gave me hope even now that there
Is no real money anymore
There's still a black
Market there's always a black market
There's always something that can
Be exchanged she then
Was a woman who might bend the
Rules but what did I have, to trade?
I looked at the cigarette with longing
For me, like liquor and coffee
They are forbidden
So old what's-his-face didn't work out
She said no, ma'am, I said
She gave what might have been a laugh
Then coughed tough
Luck on him, she said this is your second
Isn't it? Third, ma'am, I said
Not so good for you either
She said there was another coughing laugh
You can sit down I don't
Make a practice of it, but just this time
I did sit, on the edge of one of the stiff
Backed chairs i didn't want to
Stare around the room
I didn't want to appear
Inattentive to her so the marble mantelpiece
To my right and the mirror
Over it and the bunches of
Flowers were just shadows, then
At the edges of my eyes later I would have
More than enough time to take them in
Now her face was on a level with mine
I thought I recognized her or at
Least there was something familiar
About her a little of her hair was showing
From under her veil it was still
Blond i thought then that maybe
She bleached it
That hair dye was something else
She could get through the black market
But I know now that
It really is blond her eyebrows
Were plucked into thin arched
Lines, which gave her a
Permanent look of surprise, or
Outrage, or inquisitiveness
Such as you might see on a startled child
But below them her eyelids were tired-looking
Not so her eyes, which were the flat hostile
Blue of a midsummer sky in bright sunlight
A blue that shuts you out her
Nose must once have been what
Was called cute but now
Was too small for her face her face was not
Fat but it was large two
Lines led downward from the
Corners of her mouth between
Them was her chin, clenched like a fist
I want to see as little of you as possible
She said i expect you feel
The same way about me
I didn't answer, as a yes
Would have been insulting
A no contradictory
I know you aren't stupid, she
Went on she inhaled
Blew out the smoke i've read your file
As far as I'm concerned, this is like a
Business transaction but, if I get trouble
I'll give trouble back you understand?
Yes, ma'am, I said don't call me ma'am
She said irritably you're not a Martha
I didn't ask what I was supposed to call her
Because I could see that she hoped
I would never have the occasion
To call her anything at all i
Was disappointed i wanted, then
To turn her into an older
Sister, a motherly figure
Someone who would understand and
Protect me the Wife
In my posting before this had spent most
Of her time in her bedroom
The Marthas said she drank i wanted
This one to be different i
Wanted to think I would have liked
Her, in another time and place, another
Life but, I could see already that
I wouldn't have liked her, nor she me
She put her cigarette out, half smoked
In a little scrolled ashtray on the
Lamp table beside her she did this
Decisively, one jab and one grind
Not the series of genteel taps favored
By many of the Wives
As for my husband, she said
He's just that my husband iwant
That to be perfectly
Clear till death do us part it's final
Yes, ma'am, I said again
Forgetting they used
To have dolls, for little girls
That would talk if you pulled a
String at the back I
Thought I was sounding like that
Voice of a monotone, voice of a
Doll she probably longed to slap my
Face they can hit us
There's Scriptural precedent but not with any
Implement only with their hands
It's one of the things we fought
For, said the Commander's Wife
And suddenly she
Wasn't looking at me, she was looking
Down at her knuckled, diamond-studded hands
And I knew where I'd seen her before
The first time was on television
When I was eight or nine
It was when my mother was
Sleeping in, on Sunday mornings
And I would get up early and go
To the television set in my mother's
Study and flip through the channels
Looking for cartoons
Sometimes when I couldn't find any I would
Watch the Growing Souls Gospel Hour
Where they would tell Bible stories
For children and sing
Hymns one of the women was called Serena Joy
She was the lead soprano she
Was ash blond, petite
With a snub nose and huge
Blue eyes which she'd
Turn upwards during hymns she could smile and
Cry at the same time, one tear or
Two sliding gracefully down her cheek
As if on cue, as her voice
Lifted through it's highest notes, tremulous
Effortless it was after that she
Went on to other things
The woman sitting in front of me
Was Serena Joy or had been
Once so it was worse than I thought