I had a dream
of a house, my house
on an island
with a row of carrots
planted by the back
and the Eastern Sun
out front
and a man I could call
my own — well
he says he’s not in my life
he will not leave his wife
and so must I salvage
my second marriage
in some capacity
or should I, could I
be Independent?
Husband turned Me down
for the holiday weekend —
My Bed is for Me
Eye bought Silver Satin Sheets
for The Man Eye Cannot Have
but made My Bed with old
brown flannel bottom
and holy cream top
for The Man Who Is My Husband
Over pink carnations
she suggested sparingly:
give yourself away
Audacious Husband
refuses to pay for sex
after eighteen years
If I had been housed
in a glass dome
on the beach
Yes, I would have thrown stones
at My Captor —
I am now released, almost
in My Own Home
as congested as it is
with art on the walls
floor to ceiling
lining Me with protection
that I may reclaim
My True Self
Every Woman Knows
Prostitution is Marriage
With Every Bed Made
Eye have propositioned
My Estranged Husband
for sexual favours
under the table —
His refusal to accept
has left Me
rejected, neglected
alone
and punished.
My Divorcing Husband
has allowed Me to become
The Social Outcast
Who walks My expansive beach alone
Who sleeps with
The Virginal Banana
Who reads Her Verse
dressed like a vamp
while He refuses to ask
“How did it go?”
Don’t ever marry a man
Who’s dumb
but
Oh Mum — how nice
it would be to
have My Neck
under His Thumb
Joanna Gilman Hyde 