The Greenhouse
Eye have opened
A candle of musk
On my first morning
In Haida Gwaii
I am drinking my coffee
Black
In the dark of my hippy room
With deer pelt on the floor
By my bed
Of brown
And bone
And feathers
Langley, British Columbia 10:30am
Amidst the droplets of melting ice
Surrounding each eternal branch
Eye watched the grand daughter
Off to school
In coat bedecked with stars
Eye have shed the garb
Of Christmas
In favour of jeans and sneakers
To board three planes out West
To see my family
Of children
The view before me
Of the veiled sky
— distant edge of rain
Before the faint illumination
Tells me I am alone
To see
But not alone
Church spires have disappeared today
Against a backdrop of white-ish grey
The day is murky , still and dreich
I’ve a longing to cast away
The twinkle of the Lobster boats
Scattered like a necklace
Of stars
Along my Atlantic horizon
Remark to me
The wealth
Of our
Time
I saw The Last of Eva
In Her Strict Blue Eyes
Sitting up to get up
And out
Of a secondary hospital
Where is my brother now?
He is in my right eye
The corner of which
I rub occasionally
With my right index finger
As He so often
demonstrated
Eye Gladly Wear Real Mink
From a dead mother in law
But today I bought
A fake spruce —
Bush from a box
With tiny silver lights
Tied at the top
To be unfurled
With the eternal hope
Of a birthday visit
From my living son
For Valentine’s Day
Eye wanted a gown
The colour of poinsettia —
My first husband’s response
To my request:
“Whadda ya want that For?”
Joanna Gilman Hyde 