If I sit on The Portico
I can’t see My Laundry Line
but I can see a neighbour’s
with The Ocean in behind
the length of line is parallel
The Hanging Fabrics Flicker
They Catch My Eye
like a fire
as Wind Blows Through Them Quicker
I am Mrs Dr W Hunter Blair
I sit on My Deck
& write poetry
I dress for The Weather
& whatever else is going on
I listen to The Sheets & Towels
fluttering on the line
I listen to The Birds
The Waves
& whatever else is going on
I listen
I write
for Joanna Gilman Hyde
I am dressed for The Sun
in Floppy Sun Hat
& Long Mexican House Dress
with Sunscreen on My Arms
45 years or more
away from when My Mother
dressed Me
in My Sun Pants & nothing else
& sent Me outside
away from Harm
on Our Sunny Nova Scotia Island
Here I sit in My Black Slip
of a Nightgown
waiting for The World to End
waiting for All Our Global Assets
to fall apart
to be rearranged
to be supported
by All The Silver & Gold
We can possibly carry
Joanna Gilman Hyde 