The Accent Mark
Squiggle of Pink Gold
Rose from where Eye expect Sun
“Oh My Word!” World.
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
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”
Eye can have My Church
here, hear upon The Beach
I can walk, wake with The Birds
in the social structure of solitude
in the company of Life
Eye can shine with The New Sun
Eye asked my husband
if I was a creative
genius — he said “No.”
My Paintings are loose
dripping like punctured abcess
colours even fall
The Human Mind can
and does believe anything:
Believe what you want
Joanna Gilman Hyde 