Joanna Gilman Hyde

Why did Eye send out

one hundred and fifty

hand-made invitations

to a wedding Eye didn’t want?

Standing trembling by a girthy tree

in a Doctor’s back yard —

Eye have no memory

of taking His Hand —

Eye have no memory of Him

at the reception

as Eye sat beside My Cake

with no memory of taking a bite

while My Father served punch

at My Behest

Eye wake to write

of the boy with dirty neck

who put a dime

in my 4th grade desk

and tried to give me

one breathy kiss —

now to be invited

by an old old man

with teeth of brown

(if he has any left)

to accompany him

to The Lions Hall

Breakfast