Joanna Gilman Hyde

"Good Morning, World!"

Category: poetry

Howard Talbot Walden Hyde

Today would have been

My Brother’s 56th birthday —

he died at 45

innocent on a jail house floor —

My Beautiful Brother

conceived in Gabon

when Our Mother was ill

He was born during The Cuban Missile Crisis

and took that to Heart —

It coloured His outlook

of fear

though He was brave at six

when I threw His shiny red fire truck

down the cellar stairs —

He was brave at eleven

when I pushed Him off

the bow of Our Mother’s Molly

and He was brave at seventeen

when I told Him “No”

after he asked, “Don’t you love Me?”

 

He played the clarinet & saxophone

and made up stories about two clowns

named Jane Rane and Rank Raunk

while I pretended in a baby voice

He was “Uncle Howie”

and We played “Mail”

under the bathroom door

 

He followed Me like a shadow

jealous when I first married —

Our Mother had Howard give Me away

 

He built Me up with His Devotion

all the times I was ill after Our Mother died

and I slammed Him down

into the ground of Pine Grove Cemetary

in Shelburne, Nova Scotia

wailing on Our Father’s Shoulder

 

Note:  The ghost of My Dear Brother haunts a part of My House — My Second Husband’s former Library where I installed a memorial to Howard with a painting of poppies the heavy frame of which warped the day I hung it there.

M(Eye) House of God

In My Tidy House

The Word of God

lies stuck against the back

of My Broom Closet —

It, The Word, is in poster form

tucked away

for only Those Who

dare to clean

or to hang up an extra coat —

for My Closet

holds a rod

Message for Lifecameos

Good Morning Glennis:

Just want you to know that Eye read ALL of your work.  Eye love your simple descriptions of life events, traumatic and happy.  You are a very good writer.  Eye hope you read this. Eye hope to visit New Zealand some day.

 

Joanna

My Window

Eye have My Window Open

to breathe the air of night

in Eye let the gusts of wind

to scare away My Fright

I am alone, yes, I say

but to what end Eye see

that by My Self I will live

and be forever free

PERSEVERANCE

Eye make My Bed

upon rising

Eye make My Art

upon the morning dark

dancing to the music

of black frustration

 

My Two Daughters

My Daughters Eye Wear

On My Right Ring Finger

and My Left —

My Finger of Engagement

Is For Blonde Eliza:

Eye Made Her Up To Be

A Woman Who Could Do ANYTHING

(and She Would Have To Be Beautiful)

Her Turquoise Tear Drop

Is Set Between Two Tiny Diamonds —

She’s Coming Home

On My Father’s Birthday

To Stay Four Days.

 

Golden Maria Stays Forever

On My Right:

Her Unformed Heart

Is Eternal Strength —

She Is My Beautiful Dark Haired Woman

With The Most Melodious Voice

Who Appeared On My Right Shoulder —

Who Was Taken From My Womb

On My Mother’s Death Day —

Who Came To Me To Be Named.

 

These Two Women Are My Daughters:

One Light, One Dark

One To Have In Life, One In Death —

One Joy, One Comfort —

These Two Daughters

Are My Sacred Accessories

To MIND

 

ART

My Work, My Fun

is conglomerated

packed inside

My House

like baby tiny spiders

hatching out

to live their fragile lives

in amongst the nooks

of My Exterior

Morning Tea With Cream

Eye wear regal fakery

on My Left Ring Finger —

solid gold

on My Right.

The World will be told

why

some time soon

if the parties involved

feel like it

 

Today’s Summer

Today’s Summer

is The One Eye Choose

of Silver Robes

& Black Bathing Suits

tripping through the heated fog

of Our Hawk Beach

to South Side

where fighting lovers

meet with chaperons

to win back

the sultry longing

exuded by Their Latest

Expose

The Art of Sexual Frustration

Eye have a Doctor

in My Bed

and nice to Me

He is not —

He sleeps & sleeps

upon His Head

which I could grab —

is He Hot?