by Margaret Atwood
There are so many things I want
you to have. This is mine, this
tree, I give you its name,
here is food, white like roots, red,
growing in the marsh, on the shore,
I pronounce these names for you also.
This is mine, this island, you can have
the rocks, the plants
that spread themselves flat over
the thin soil, I renounce them.
You can have this water,
this flesh, I abdicate,
I watch you, you claim
without noticing it,
you know how to take.