The Hawk West Desk Window 7:50pm
See My Face
Left Eye Closed
right eye of reflection
Chin Within Right Thumb & Forefinger
left hand in reflection
encompassed by The Star Field
of dental floss spatter
The Tomato-coloured Couch 9:18am
I Am A Performance Artist
My Life Is My Stage
Dressed In Black & Silver
With Red Lace Underwear
Red Lipstick
On A Cold Monday Morning
I Am Ready To Go
To The Bank
The Tomato-coloured Couch 8:10pm
My Mother sat in Her brown & gold
champagne bubble evening dress
empire-waisted
listening to Her clarinet-playing married Lover
in The World’s Greatest Jazz Band —
I stayed baby-sat
until
Her Bubble Burst
upon My nine-year-old shoulders
The Christmas I begged
for a pair of green & red
Love Birds
The Hawk Deck 11:48am
My Brother had a Magic Pendant —
have I written of It before?
He asked It Yes or No
Questions
& told His Fortune
but We don’t have It now —
It was Our Mother’s —
heavy hand-wrought Silver
with A Bird on one side
Rose on the other
The Hawk Kitchen 6:50pm
I remember those dirty-necked boys
— what they tried with me —
the one in 4th grade
who put dimes in my desk
until he confessed
& breathed his lips
across my neck —
the one on my father’s farm
who shifted in the bed
of an old pick up
to the left of me on an extracted truck seat
under a discarded printed comforter
I distinctly remember —
he tried nuzzling me:
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you a hickey.”
“What? — I’m only eleven!”
Joanna Gilman Hyde 