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.
In My Favourite Restaurant
Eye overheard The Waiter
Talking to The Cook:
“How can You have time
for God and Your Wife?”
Eye called out from My Booth:
“What if God and Your Wife
are One and The Same?”
How stable are We?
As paint dries colour wrinkles
collapses even
Squiggle of Pink Gold
Rose from where Eye expect Sun
“Oh My Word!” World.
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
Rivulets of Dawn
drip, run along My Canvas
of morning sky, song
Above Her Title
The Creative Genius Stands
Beyond Her Profanity
Eye have in my possession
the implement of destruction:
the blue and white iron
belonging to My First Husband
wielded by His Former Live-in Girlfriend
a dancer
to whack Him on His Hip
while hot
to leave a permanent scar
of polka dots
and The Man’s Story
of “Bad PMS”
Joanna Gilman Hyde 