The Tomato-coloured Couch 9:15pm
We Wear Our Minds Outside Our Selves:
if Our Hair is Frazzled
We have gone miles
in open wind
–
if Our Bellies are Big
We have gorged Ourselves
on Great Ideas
left under The Table
–
if We Smile
Our Contentment
may mean Our Wanderings
have lead Us
to Our Ends
–
if We Laugh
We are revealing
Our Most Primitive Selves
in defiance
of the psychiatric labels
for which We were sent away
The Tomato-coloured Couch 6:11pm
I had to interrupt cooking supper
to write about laying out
four plastic Canadian fifties
for My Daughter’s allowance
allowing enough for a sports bra
to buy on a trip to Halifax
with Her Boyfriend
— $200.00 bucks flat out —
I was struck by the recollection
of a roll of American twenties
wadded into My Starving Palm
counted out in the bathroom
of a Japanese Piano Bar in New York:
— $200.00 bucks tootsie-rolled
into a promise to be taken
to Korea to do an art project
but delivered in a Waldorf elevator
with the push
to accompany The Korean Minister of Defence
into His Room
where all I could do
was to declare
in plain English:
“There has been some mistake.”
The Hawk Basement 3:30pm
I have two poems
swirling around in My Head:
The First represents The Shadow of a trinket
bauble, gem, charm, jewel
cast upon My Basement Wall
to the immediate right
of My Rowing Machine’s Arm
It is The Configuration
of a diamond ring
tipped to the right
& out from underneath It
falls, clatters
a rain of darker pieces, shapes
of raw concrete
spilling to the floor
meeting the extension of The Shadow
cast by the elongated arm
–
The Second is of My Mother & My Daughter:
While I was driving to pick up My Daughter
The Shadow of My Mother took over, briefly
& the car in front of Me
held My Daughter’s initials
& I, as Mother & Daughter
was The Bridge
I am The Bridge
Joanna Gilman Hyde 