Joanna Gilman Hyde

"Good Morning, World!"

TONIGHT

The Tomato-coloured Couch 7:41pm

My Husband has given up

on trying to talk any sense

into Me.

He claims He no longer has any opinion

on what psychiatric diagnosis

might be responsible for My Skewered Reality.

He claims He will never speak again

of His Theory as to why I latched on

to a Little Scottish Doctor four days after

My Mother Died:

His Fifteen-year-old Theory that I had a symbiotic relationship

with My Mother, transferred onto The Little Man.

That My Husband may never discuss this subject again

should be a relief to Me

yet I find My Self in the foulest of moods.

Maybe I am getting

a menopausal period.

FUCK EVERYTHING

The Tomato-coloured Couch 5:55pm

He & I are Black Jesus

crawling out of The Depths

of filth & squalor

out of Lies & Untruths

clawing Our Way Out

of The World Today, Tonight

into The Sublime

of misunderstood Union

HOW DO I EXIST?

The Tomato-coloured Couch 3:56pm

I am The Little Girl —

stomach stuffed with Dipped Digestives

& Ginger Snaps

I am The Filthy Crow —

crazed & caged above A Cathedral-ceilinged

Living Room

I am The Entity Within —

pulsating to life

alerting My Gut, & so Me

to the impossibility

of Reconciliation

THE FIRST LIGHT

December 8, 2013 The Hawk West Desk Window 10:30pm

My First Summer With My First Husband

We Built a 10′ x 15′ Post-and-Beam House

The Thoreau House

On McNutt Island

Our First Night

We Shone an Oil Lamp

From Its Southern Window

and Went Outside To Look