Tonight Eye gathered up
with My Left Finger Tips
The Remains
of the disembarkation
of “Stratospheric Universe”
from the early grass
of My Front Yard.
Now it is My Front Yard.
The pieces are piled densely
in an old aluminium tray
ready to be picked through
and arranged, possibly haphazardly,
into a new form of Art
Eye call “Destructionism.”
Someday (soon) my reconstructed creation
will sell for thousands
of Canadian Dollars
and Eye will NOT BE DEAD
Cinderella was an artist
who cleaned out the kitty litter
every morning and every night.
She had no boyfriend
but got into trouble with the law
by texting her elderly estranged husband
for phone sex — text sex —
and stealing money from his wallet
to pay for it.
Her shoe size was 7 and a half.
For the whole time she poured out
a giant painting titled “American Bombshell”
on the floor of her basement
she dreamed of Prince Charming —
a lithe little leprechaun
the next town over
with whom she had shared
a magical moment
25 years earlier
and found she could love
no one else.
Cinderella would walk alone
the shores of her castle home
and converse sparingly with neighbours
who might have thought
she was a bit strange,
living by herself with 6 cats
in her high white house
litter-ally dripping with paint.
On one of her walks
she found a plastic Jack-o-lantern
and carried it all the way back
to put black glitter in its hollows
for eyes, nose and wild grin.
8
Cinderella had a Fairy Godmother
with jet black hair
who would wave her wand
of reason
and all of Cinderella’s fortitude
would emerge,
cajoled by her guardian’s
infectious laughter.
Her shoe size was 9.
Now at the end of April
there was to be a gala dance
to raise funds for the monolithic hospital
in the Western county over
but no one asked Cinderella for a date
so she decided
to just stay home
and paint another
cupboard door
with paint-shard applications
from her work titled:
“Stratospheric Universe”
blown apart
by a Christmas storm
to litter her yard
with slabs and chips
of hardened splashes
she could call her own.
I grew up
on the edge of existence
in a place called
The Drowned Forrest
where I stood between
ancient mysteries of passion
and future enlightenment of life
without entanglements
to turn
to behold My House —
My Funny-looking House —
staring down at me
from above the beach
where I walked along the silver sea
Remember when Eye created
The Food Mosaic
on your kitchen table
in Barrington?
You got mad at me
and I said, “You sound old –”
but you took a picture
you didn’t keep
& Eye strew your papers
along the trail
Above Her Title
The Creative Genius Stands
Beyond Her Profanity
Eye asked my husband
if I was a creative
genius — he said “No.”
I never did like
the way he wangled his dick
along the stair case
My sculpture melted —
Dance Demonstration Request:
He told Me “Curtsy”
M(eye) Estranged Husband
is a Hot Ticket
in His Office
and on the internet —
He’s got one of my closest friends
after Him already
and She’s Age
Appropriate
I
He used to say:
“I love Your Toes –”
and didn’t know why
so nobody knows
II
He once wrote:
“I love You to distraction –”
It came at a time
when I was a fraction
of My Former Self
at His Behest
when We were installed
as His Daughter’s Guests
III
Her voice rang clear
the morning We left:
“You don’t give a fuck
about your grandchildren — ”
and so goes My Quest
for compensation regarding My Past
twenty years of seclusion by Him —
He Who assured Me
He never would fail
to deliver support
if I fell off The Rail
which I did once or twice
(but not into His Arms)
though I stayed as His Wife
and buttered His Charms
IV
It’s over now —
I’m cutting My Loss
of One Child’s Silence
I am willing to toss
to remain in My Stead
I ask to be free
of The Bonds of This Marriage
strung on The Cross
Joanna Gilman Hyde 