by Joanna Gilman Hyde

The Hawk Kitchen 3:00pm

Bundled against the brazen squall of snow

I am stumped

after perusing over the roots —

root stems from The Drowned Forest

looking for branching sections

to string together somehow

like a spine

of bare limbs to make

an ad hoc

X-Miss Bush

My Own

this year — a dead array

for perhaps the cats

to climb — to hang

13 silver birds & even more plastic snow flakes

to deck the TV Room

with the barren interlocking

drift wood


which can only be piled, tangled

(not constructed / not drilled)

into a vertical heap

(very un-tree-like)

instead I will have to pinch

a dead spruce, whole

from beyond My Back Yard

& set it, bolt upright

in a front window