The Tomato-coloured Couch 5:30pm
I married Him under apple boughs
on The Island of My Mother
and when She died
six years later
I would love another
–
I went to see Our Marital House
to see Eliza there
to deliver dishcloths
She was wanting
to see how She had cared
enough to put a sprig of apple
in a bottle neck deep and red
It glowed upon a kitchen sill
I have nothing left to dread
no more hurting husbands
no more dying pets
I am free now
in My Life
even to forget
The Hawk Deck 9:32am
I have seen The Little Grey & Yellow Bird
open Its Beak, twice,
to sing Its Morning Tune
to fly away
& return
to chirp again
and so all is right
in My World
My Painting will lead The Way
to The Global Stabilization
We are awaiting
in Our Hearts
& Mind
The Tomato-coloured Couch 2:15pm
I do not wonder at My Father’s Death —
how It was for Him
as I wonder at My Mother’s
My Father may have been asleep —
He died in the night
as far as I know
but My Mother was wide, wide
awake
& blazed Her Eyes open
except for one torturous blink
which opened back up
in Her Last Guttural Heave
The Tomato-coloured Couch 12:15pm
This Morning My Daughter reported waking
to the song of multitudinous bird-life
the dehumidifier tray was full
but She had no hot water
in The Atlantic House —
My First Marital Home
with Eliza’s Father
Who picked the colours
& built an addition
complete with screened-in porch
off Our New Bedroom
I sat out there in the shelter of the screens
in My Post-Mother’s-Death Depression
& wondered, along with everyone else,
why I was not happy
The Tomato-coloured Couch 6:30pm
She left tonight for Her Cottage —
Eliza’s Cottage — The Atlantic House She partially grew up in
It’s fifteen minutes closer to Her Summer Job
& She took the dehumidifier from The Hawk
to get the dampness out
She took Her Vegan Food from the cupboards
& left most of Her Clothes in Her Closet
The Lincoln She left in was making Its high-pitched scary noise
but She drove away
anyway
The Hawk Portico 7:44pm
I have an attitudinal stance
toward The Surf
Its Sound
projects My Hips forward
My Arms are casually folded
My Head juts
from a profile view
I might be sloped like an S
from the back
I would look held in
crouched
like The Nautilus
The Hawk West Desk Window 4:11pm
I have A Voodoo Pain
at the inside of My Left Upper Arm
It’s telling Me to Right Write
telling Me to leave My Tea
telling Me to describe The Pain:
“It’s Itchy, Man!”
pulsating
not now, not now, not now
is It gonna happen again?
I do want My Tea
I’m gonna go get It —
(came back)
NOW — The Pain came again!
but what am I supposed to Right
— how silly — to be Writing
about Righting
ooh — again!
It’s My Left Upper Arm, Near My Elbow
It’s a panging itch
lasts about a second —
–
If I could Write anything
what would I Write Right Now?
ooh — It came
what would I Write without losing My Audience?
Only That Which I Am Capable Of Knowing:
My Self
I Write about My Self All The Time
I Love My Self
but I see My Self as only Half —
–
I went to the bathroom
& The Pain continued
I think It’s telling Me
to keep Writing:
I have another Half
in The Form of A Little Man —
I’m gonna make another Cup Of Tea
–
I’m back
My Rings were on the sink
I put Them on
I Love My Rings
They’re Mine
They have no Halves
I let in My Black Cat
Astro Jasper Cosmo
He’s All Mine
though My Husband Loves Him Too
My Tea is steeping
I haven’t felt another Voodoo Pain
I’ll go check My Tea
Look at all the “I’s”
going Write down this page!
Joanna Gilman Hyde 