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Margaret Atwood

This is the solstice, the still point of the sun, its cusp and midnight, the year’s threshold and unlocking, where the past lets go of and becomes the future; the place of caught breath… — Margaret Atwood, from “Shapechangers in Winter,” Eating Fire: Selected Poetry 1965-1995. (Virago Press Ltd October 1, 1998)

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Canadian Culture · Canadian Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Poetry

Leonard Cohen

Beneath My Hands Beneath my hands your small breasts are the upturned bellies of breathing fallen sparrows. Wherever you move I hear the sounds of closing wings of falling wings. I am speechless because you have fallen beside me because your eyelashes are the spines of tiny fragile animals. I dread the time when your… Continue reading Leonard Cohen

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Anthology · Canadian Culture · Canadian Literature · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Contemporary · Excerpt · Fragment · Passage · Poetry

Don McKay

Moon, night after night rehearsing shades of pause and spill, sifting into reed beds, silvering the fine hairs of your arms, making rhythm out of light and nothing, making months. What have I ever made of life or it of me? — Don McKay, from “Lift,” Angular Unconformity: Collected Poems 1970-2014 (Icehouse Poetry, 2014)

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Margaret Atwood

Everything once had a soul, even this clam, this pebble. Each had a secret name. Everything listened. Everything was real, but didn’t always love you. You needed to take care. — Margaret Atwood, from “Because We Love Bare Hills and Stunted Trees,” Poetry Ireland Review Issue 116

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