Joanna Gilman Hyde

"Good Morning, World!"

Month: May, 2013


The Hawk Queen Bed 9:11pm

I hear The Peepers through My Left

Surf out to My Right

My Left Hand rests on My Husband’s Thigh

My Pills I’ve taken for The Night

The Day is closing, nondescript

though visited Mother-in-law (ex)

to make sure Eliza’s Prom Dress zipped

(It did)

made home-made pizza —

was a hit

in bed now, early



The Hawk Queen Bed 10:00pm

I Know What

is going to happen

I Know What

is happening

I Know What is Going

to happen

I Know What

is happening

(arms bent up & out to the sides

head facing up)

We Are Ushering

in a new era

We Are Ushering In

The New Age


The Hawk Living Room 5:40pm

“Life Springs Eternal”

from My Fingertips

surrounding My Candle Holder of beer, now,

I am drawn into Golden Bubbles


like The Stars

so why try to count —

Who The Hell Cares

as long as You can

drink Them in

& take That Star Juice

into Your Own Body

for the makings

of Men & Women

Children & Pets?



The Hawk Queen Bed 3:00pm

I’m still in bed, in My Pyjamas

& it’s three o’clock in the afternoon

This condition is ostensibly due to sleep deprivation

from last night when I stayed up too late

fooling around with My joannagilmanhyde web address —

It didn’t get corrected until this morning

with My Husband’s help before work

but I wasn’t able to catch up on the sleep

despite taking an Ativan —

as You may have gathered

My Beauty Sleep relies entirely on pills

& regular routine —

any break in the pattern

& I’m shot for the day

personal note:  My Daughter Eliza just phoned

that She’s got a summer job at Shelburne’s Osprey Arts Center


The Hawk Kitchen 8:08pm

What does The Sky look like

to Juvenile Joanna

sucking Her Right Thumb

but NOT twiddling Her Hair

(It was in braids)

This Sky out the East Kitchen Window

looks like oatmeal

From The West Desk Window

The Sky looks like striated years

representing decades

of living, & nearly dying

of having two babies

& losing the third

of having grown children

having no more mother, no father

a second loving husband

& a house from which

to watch The Clouds


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


The Hawk Kitchen 7:15pm

I used to announce to Hunter

when I felt a wave of happiness

& now I have felt not The Wave

but The Smooth Line — The Flat Line

of complete fulfilment:

It came in My Kitchen

cooking Fettuccine Alfredo

with spaghetti noodles

& looking out the sink window

to the evening light

on the rocks

lining My Cellar Drive


The Hawk Portico 6:00pm

In the stillness of this evening

I have a call for The Hawk:

The Plaintive Cooing of The Mourning Dove

sounding clean & close above the others

so still am I in My Chair

I hear not even surf

but the buzz of a fly

& the sucking surge of The Grackle