Joanna Gilman Hyde

“Astro, who was that man?”

Who was that man I met in the library

in Meteghan?

That man who took me

to Sip Cafe

and held my hand

saying he was 500 years old?

He smelled of wood smoke

like my son

and kissed my hairband

when I asked if he was married.

“Astro, who was that man?”

Who took me to Halifax

for Valentine’s Day

to eat chicken Spanakopita

to contemplate skating

when we said we were from Digby

incognito

I in my long white fake fur coat

and long red sparkly scarf

elaborate

he in his black Columbia

worn for the first time

a daughter’s gift

“Astro, who was that man?”

Who read my essay on Jealousy

and brushed my hair

and looked at me with reverence?

We walked the beach

when we got home

bundled up

and I darned his sock

and fixed the snags

in his Irish dark blue sweater

the colour of his eyes.

“Astro, who was he?”

Eye sit beside a cold grey sea

anchored by my cup of tea

Alone I am — but eye don’t care

for now my life is free

My brother never saw

the house I’m living in,

neither did my mother.

They both died

too early in my life

when I was with another

set of circumstance

calling me to strife —

First the father of my 3

rejected for the other

husband whom I no longer have

rejected for a lover

in my mind and in my heart

but he is gone through time

why bother to count those years

now my life is mine.

Instead of waking

to my former husband’s kissable head

I looked to a sky of gold and pink

and to the spruce of our first snow

this winter, and I reached

for my phone

to review the end

of Self Organizing Galaxy —

my painting of blue and purple

yellow and red

I watched my face

of 23 years

then got out of bed

to wash it now

and brush my hair —

my cat wants to be fed