Eye build My Bed
In The Eyes of The World
And a very fine bed it is
It is
It is
Gathered in the corners
Laid afresh with new sheets
And matching blanket
It is covered with The Quilt
Of eternal rippling
And Eye have yet
To stir My Self
Beneath
It’s silken waves
Eye am on a fisherman’s schedule
Waking in the night’s middle
Doing my exercises well before dawn
Drinking my coffee @ McDonald’s
To watch the sky light up
While listening to the men
My Bed is made for My Self
Now Now
Made of an old bottom
LL Bean Flannel
A top cream holy one
With wave patterned trim —
It is now My Bed
Claimed after My Childhood
Claimed after dating My Self
For almost 50 years
Eye dance through
My “real” Life
And My Paintings
Leave
A Trail of Stars
My House is no longer cold
With the winter air
Of isolation
My house is room temperature
Now, now
That Eye have welcomed
My Estranged Husband
As traveling companion
And friend
Eye have joined The Others
In chairs of steel
Waiting in Their Lobby
For lunch and supper
Waiting in Their Rooms
For The Son
Eye am glad
Dr Blair’s Big White Castle
Burned to the ground —
Eye am safe
Alone now
Here in M(eye) Own
Eye have begun a painting
On the floor of M(eye) basement
Studio —
Not so much a painting
As a collection
Of the detritus
Of M(eye) past
2 million years
Joanna Gilman Hyde 