Drunk from the Bitter Truth: The Poems of Anna Margolin

THE MADWOMAN

212 ʲʰʲʢʥʹʮ ʩʣ ʱ ' ʩʥʨ ʩʥʥ ʯʥʠ ʦˌʸʢ ʩʥʥ ʪʩʦ ʨʢʩʩʬʲʢ ʸʲʰʩʩʨʹ ʯʡˌʤ ʩʥʸ˦ ʸʲʣ ʯʥ˦ ˝ʲʬʹ ʯʨʫʩʬ˦ʲʶ ʯʸʲʨʰʥʠ , ʯʢʲʸ ʯʩʠ ʷʩʣʰʫˋʬ ʯʲʢʰˋʢʲʢ ʦʩʠ ʱˌʥʥ ʨʫʩʸʲʢ˦ʩʥʠ ʪʩʥʤ ʯʥʠ . ʨʫʩʸʲʢʮʥʠ ʯ˦ˌʬʲʢʰˌ ʯʲʰ‫ٷ‬ʦ ʸʲʣʰʩʷ , ˝ʹʲʢ ʯʲʩʩʸʷ ʯʥʠ ʯʲʹʨʹʩʥʥʱ ˋ ʨʩʮ ʸʩʠ ʭʥʸˋ ʨʦ‫ٷ‬ʸ , ʩʦ ʨˌʤ ʨʫˋʸʨʲʢ ʯʥʠ , ʲʢʥʹʮ ʦˋ ʯʲʩʩʸʹʲʢ ʲʸʲʩʩʦ ʯʲʰ‫ٷ‬ʦ . ʯʸˌʫʬʢʩʩ˦ ʩʥʥ ʯʥʠ ʯʸˌʬʸˋ˦ ʪʩʦ ʯʥʠ ʨʦʩʩʬʲʢ˦ʩʥʠ ʪʩʦ ʩʩʦ ʯʡˌʤ ʷʩʦʥʮ ʸʲʣʰʲʬʮʩʸʣ ʸʲʨʮʩʥʸʨʲʢʱʩʥʠ ʯʩʠ . ʱ ʯʥʠ ' ʯʦʲʥʥʲʢ ʱˌʥʥ ʵʬˋ ʦʩʠ , ʷʩʸʥʶ ʯʲʮʥʷʲʢ . ʨʩʮ ʯʲʮʥʷʲʢ ʨʩʩʷʱʨʥʢ . ʯʡʲʢʸˋ˦ ʯʨʲʡʲʢ ʸʲʶ ʯʸˋ˦ , ʯʡʲʢʲʢ ʬˌʮ ˋ ʨˌʤ ʱˌʥʥ . ʨʬʷʰʥʨʸˋ˦ ʪʩʦ ʭʩʰ˝ ʸʩʠ ʨˌʤ ʲʬ‫ٷ‬ʥʥ ˋ ʳʩʥʠ ʣʰˋʹ ʯʥ˦ ʨʲʹʨʸˌʷʲʢ ʪʩʦ ʬˌʮ ˋ ʩʥʥ ʯʥʠ , ʨʸʲʢʲʶʲʢ ʲʬ‫ٷ‬ʥʥ ˋ ʨˌʤ ʩʦ ʯʥʠ ʨʰˋʤ ʸʲʣ ʯʥ˦ ʸʩ˦ ʯʨʩʩʸʡ ˋ ʨʩʮ ʣʬˋʡ ʯʥʠ ʢʰʩʣʶʬˋ , ʯʡʲʢʸˋ˦ ʢʰʩʣʶʬˋ . ʲʰ‫ٷ‬ʦ ʯʢʩʥʬ˦ʲʢ‫ٷ‬ʡʸˋ˦ ʷʩʣʰʲʢʰʩʦ ʯʲʮʩʨʹ ʯ , ʯʢʩʥʡʸˋ˦ ʪʩʦ ʨ˦ʬʲʤ ʸʲʣ ʳʩʥʠ ʦʩʥʤ ʨʰˋʷˋʡ ˋ ʨˌʤ ʬʲʥʥʹ ʭʲʰʸʲʶʬʩʤ ʯʨʩʮ ʸʩʠ ʥʶ ʪʩʦ ʨʸˋʹʲʢ ‫ٷ‬ʸʨ ʯʥʠ , 213 THE MADWOMAN Stones were laid like grass and dew under the woman’s ragged hem, as laughing and highly excited she went out into the rain. Children came running unexpectedly, stalking her, whistling and crowing, and she thought to herself that their screaming was insane. Like a chorus of birds they dissolved and lost themselves in imaginary, dreamy music. And all that had been, returned, returned with goodness. Begged forgiveness for inflicted sorrows of the past. For a time, her face darkened and as before, writhed in shame she paused for a bit but then with a generous wave of her hand, she forgave it all, forgave everything. Singing voices flew by, a familiar house leaned over, shuffled eagerly toward her with its wooden doorstep 214 ʲʣʰ˦ʥʸ ʵʬˋ ʯʥʠ ʷʩʦʥʮ ʨˌʤ ʨʹʩʥʸʲʢ ʸʲʨʩʩʸʡ ʸ ʯʨ˦ʥʬ ʸʲʣ ʯʩʠ ʯʨ˦ʩʤ ʯʥʠ ʯʲʬʱʷˋ ʲʸʩʠ ʪʸʥʣ ʨʷʥʶʲʢ ʭʲʸʥʨʹ ˋ ʩʥʥ ʯʥʠ . ʨʰʲʤ ʩʣ ʯʩʠ ʣʩʩʬʷ ʱˌʣ ʯʡʩʥʤʸˋ˦ ʯʥʠ , ʷʩʸʥʶ ʳʩʥʠ ˝ˌʷ ʭʲʣ , ʸʲʣʰʩʷ ʯʥ˦ ʭʲʸˋʩʬ ʯʸʲʨʰʥʠ ʯʢʲʸ ʯʣʰʸʲʮˌʩ ʯʥʠ ʪʲʬʲʮˋ˝ ʩʦ ʨˌʤ , ʨʶʰˋʨʲʢʰʢʲʷʨʰˋ ʪʲʬʸʲ‫˦ٷ‬ ʯʨʩʥʨ ʸʩʠ ʯʡʲʬ . ʬˌʮ ˋ ʨʢʲʬ˦ ʩʦ ʱˌʥʥ , ʬʲ˦ˋʡ ˋ ʳʩʥʠ ʩʥʥ , ʱʩ˦ ʲʣʰʷʰʩʦ ʨʩʮ ʯʨʲʸʨˋʡ . ʦʩʠ ʱˌʣ ʨʰʲˌʰ ʩʥʥ ʨʸʲʣʰ˒ʥʥʲʢ ʪʩʦ ʨˌʤ ʩʦ ʯʥʠ , ˌ ʷʩʬʢ , ʨʩʸʨ ʲʡʩʬ ʩʣ ʯʲʬʮʥʨ ʱʲ ʨʰʲˌʰ ʩʥʥ ; ʨʩʬʡʲʶ ʭʲʶʥʬ˝ ʪʩʦ ʯʡˌʤ ʯʢʩʥʠ ʱʰʶʰʲʮʲ ʯʥʠ , ʨʸʩʥʥʸˋ˦ ʯʥʠ ʨʣʰʲʬʡʸˋ˦ ʩʦ ʨʸʩʸˋʡ ʱʸʩʠ ʡ‫ٷ‬ʬ ʱˌʣ ʯʥʠ . 215 she would cross with sinking feet, as if on command. She wondered at how close it was, oh, joy, how the beloved steps were rattling nearby; someone’s eyes suddenly blossomed, dazzled and agitated her and stirred her body. The music became more insistent, rushing through the air like a storm quivering through her shoulders and hips. She lifted her dress in her hands, looked back, and amid the clamour of children and the lamenting rain, slowly, solemnly, danced toward her dead life. ...