Joanna Gilman Hyde

"Good Morning, World!"

Month: August, 2013


Yarmouth NS, afternoon

Today I gave three dollars

to The Art Gallery of Nova Scotia’s

donation (admission) box

Today I gave three dollars

to a hungry (He said) bum

who remembered My Brother Howard

but didn’t know

He had died, or how

Today I gave My Daughter

fifty dollars

for a pedicure


The Hawk Library 5:25pm

I sit across from The Golden Gleam

of My Husband’s Collection of Folio Books

it is here I can prepare My Dream

of Intelligence vs Intellect

recollect My Childhood Scheme

gathering boxes of My Mother’s Junk Mail

calling Them My “Indeportanz”


The Hawk Deck 6:35pm

What is That Woman doing

down there in Nova Scotia

weaving an insidious web

around the lives of men

helpless to avoid Her Mesh

of fantasy churned into reality:

a marriage & divorce producing

2.4 children — a second marriage

to The Silver Haired Doctor

Who fell, knowingly, into Her Trap

in 1999 & hasn’t got out —

the 3rd fatality She claims

She owes Her Life

but how will He materialize?

She calls Him

The Mastermind


The Hawk Deck 10:35am

I bit into My Morning Apple

and bit into The Fall

Eliza’s off to school next week

and I will be alone with Hunter

The Cats

and breezy lines of wash


The Hawk West Desk Window 10:22pm

Every night @ 9:30 I swallow a concoction

of medical remedies for sleep

— not to build a cocoon of ages —

but to bury Me underwater

like The Dragonfly Nymph

Who emerges after several years

into clear summer air

to fly the frenzied mating dance

to be admired

should She land against

the sleeve or head

of The Silver Haired Doctor

bent on examination


The Hawk Portico 5:15pm

One year out of art school

I rose to stellar fame

— or tried to —

when I painted the roof

of The World Trade Center

& fended off The Director’s

romantic advances

He’s dead now

so I’m free to write

that I did NOT sleep My Way

to the top

that MY TOP has not been reached


But It’s Going To Be

In My Lifetime

even if I have to die first


The Hawk Portico 4:55pm

While putting on My Shorts

to sit out on My Hawk Portico

I had the Realization

that I write about Place

more-so than People —

that My Poetry describes the environment

I live in

& that if I lived anywhere else

how different would it be?



The Hawk Living Room 1:40pm

I made My Way through

New York City

going to bed with men

just because they took Me

out to dinner

I married for Nova Scotia

& for My Mother

then I lost Her

somewhere on The High Seas

& gained an insight

into something no one else could


except — there always has to be

An Except —

One Little Man

Who unwittingly took My Heart

while My Second Husband

has My Twat


The Hawk Living Room 6:50pm

My Shredded Manuscript has been found —

not the shreds, which were dumped

at the side of the road

in three clear garbage bags

two years ago —

but a surviving copy

in Vermont

in an old farm house

belonging to My Stepmother

Who shared in My Happiness today

when I called Her

& She asked, ” Have You heard

The Good News?”

My suicidal activity

has been undone

& I don’t have to DO anything

with The Resurrection

like re-write It

into an epic poem

I can merely bask

in Its discovery

& know that It’s safe

driven by Eliza & Her Boyfriend

home by Saturday


The Hawk Deck 10:45am

Two years ago I spent

an entire afternoon

shredding five copies of a 364-page manuscript

I wrote after My Mother died

I set up the shredder from My Husband’s office

and opened the first of five bottles of beer

In those next seven hours

There went all the sections, chapters

ten pages at a time

with the shredder quitting every twenty minutes —

There went the first chapter

of My Tragic Brother overlapping

My Mother’s diagnosis

October 2, 1991

of a malignant brain tumour —

There went the chapters on living

with Her Illness and Decline

There went the chapter on The Death

March 27, 1993

There went the chapter on The Cremation

with The Chickadee’s Visit

There went Me

on no sleep

for four days — There went

The Shower of Silver Lights

on March 31st, 1993

There went The Little Doctor

calling Me a “Seer” on April Fool’s Day —

There went The First Depression

There went The Magical Moment

October 22, 1993 with The Little Doctor

There went The Telepathic Message

with Him :  Dr David Hamilton Wilson

There went My Second Pregnancy —

The Baby Girl I Dreamt Up —

infant I breast fed until She was two*

There went the section on writing the book

and getting literally lost in My Work

on a rented computer

There went subsequent depressions

Dreams of The Little Doctor

There went forever, maybe,

the description of My Childhood Parrot “Sam”

whose faulty clipping job I attempted

at My age of eleven which left him

unable to fly in My Bedroom

(which for some reason I didn’t want Him to do)

but left Him able only to veer off in sickly circles

until I had to give Him up to another little girl

when He became a problem at the Canadian/US border

at each summer crossing

Finally there went the last line of the book

which I will always have, written in June of 1996

as a married woman:

“The Bird In My Hand Is Worth Two In My Bush”

*Daughter Eliza now looking for possible surviving copy

2:00pm — Daughter Eliza FOUND IT in My Stepmother’s farmhouse in Vermont