WINTER SCAPE
The Hawk Kitchen 9:27am
I See Life Flicker
On This Coldest Of Mornings:
Birds Among Berries
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The Hawk Kitchen 9:27am
I See Life Flicker
On This Coldest Of Mornings:
Birds Among Berries
The Hawk Dining Room 2:00pm
Last night Eliza strung A Garland
out of popcorn & dried orange circles —
She hung It over Our Dining Room Window
with Its view of sky & water
— I stood before It —
The Garland dipped at nose level
I smelled The Smell of Delicacy
I stood back to view
The Subtle Transparency
of One Curling Slice
angled against the clearing clouds
The Hawk Dining Room 9:26pm
The Sky Is Leaded Silver
The Ocean Molten
After The First Snowfall
Of Any Import
My Car Is Facing East
To Melt The Remainder
Of What I’ve Brushed
Ready To Go Mail
My Son’s Birthday Card
The Tomato-coloured Couch 7:30pm
What if You put into The Hands
of a 15th Century Native American*
Who had no way of knowing there would be
a 21st —
put in His Hands
an unopened, resealable package of frozen
Wild Jumble Berries?
*Who would have called Himself something different
The Hawk Queen Bed 12:40pm
I am The Black Crow Lady
right fist clutching at My Heart
No More Supper For My Family
No Care As To Where The Food Comes From
Or Who Makes It
–
No More Ears For The Radio
only rain & sleet can calm Me now
–
No More quiet “Good Night”
I am about to yell out
a song so wild
You will wish Your Tinnitus
could consume You
The Hawk Queen Bed 9:18am
I am in A Black Mood
but there is Power in My Madness
for I can wield The Hand
of Time
I can carry out My Wish
of no sickness within the scope
of My Reality
I can make Black Magic
into Child’s Play
and conduct The Truth
through My Fingers
The Tomato-coloured Couch 7:41pm
My Husband has given up
on trying to talk any sense
into Me.
He claims He no longer has any opinion
on what psychiatric diagnosis
might be responsible for My Skewered Reality.
He claims He will never speak again
of His Theory as to why I latched on
to a Little Scottish Doctor four days after
My Mother Died:
His Fifteen-year-old Theory that I had a symbiotic relationship
with My Mother, transferred onto The Little Man.
That My Husband may never discuss this subject again
should be a relief to Me
yet I find My Self in the foulest of moods.
Maybe I am getting
a menopausal period.
The Tomato-coloured Couch 5:55pm
He & I are Black Jesus
crawling out of The Depths
of filth & squalor
out of Lies & Untruths
clawing Our Way Out
of The World Today, Tonight
into The Sublime
of misunderstood Union
The Tomato-coloured Couch 3:56pm
I am The Little Girl —
stomach stuffed with Dipped Digestives
& Ginger Snaps
–
I am The Filthy Crow —
crazed & caged above A Cathedral-ceilinged
Living Room
–
I am The Entity Within —
pulsating to life
alerting My Gut, & so Me
to the impossibility
of Reconciliation
December 8, 2013 The Hawk West Desk Window 10:30pm
My First Summer With My First Husband
We Built a 10′ x 15′ Post-and-Beam House
The Thoreau House
On McNutt Island
Our First Night
We Shone an Oil Lamp
From Its Southern Window
and Went Outside To Look
Joanna Gilman Hyde 