Eye live in a bastion
Of Human survival
Where the women don’t drink
And make their homes
For their families
Where they compare notes
Of husbands and ex’s
And children grown
And make their beds
For each other
Eye have had a long day
And there is a rose
On my vanity
For my mother
From my mother
Made from her long black chain
And my red satin hair holder
Knotted as the bud
He was just a shoulder
Undulating in the shadows
Of My Night Light
My Mother played
In Her Nova Scotia island house
Held up by summer rental income
From her beaver board home
In Valley Cottage
Held up by her parents’
Favouritism
Held up by her children’s
Love
Of their mother’s
Spunk
And their mother’s love
Of Place
Eye build My Bed
In The Eyes of The World
And a very fine bed it is
It is
It is
Gathered in the corners
Laid afresh with new sheets
And matching blanket
It is covered with The Quilt
Of eternal rippling
And Eye have yet
To stir My Self
Beneath
It’s silken waves
Eye am on a fisherman’s schedule
Waking in the night’s middle
Doing my exercises well before dawn
Drinking my coffee @ McDonald’s
To watch the sky light up
While listening to the men
My Bed is made for My Self
Now Now
Made of an old bottom
LL Bean Flannel
A top cream holy one
With wave patterned trim —
It is now My Bed
Claimed after My Childhood
Claimed after dating My Self
For almost 50 years
Eye dance through
My “real” Life
And My Paintings
Leave
A Trail of Stars
My House is no longer cold
With the winter air
Of isolation
My house is room temperature
Now, now
That Eye have welcomed
My Estranged Husband
As traveling companion
And friend
Eye have joined The Others
In chairs of steel
Waiting in Their Lobby
For lunch and supper
Waiting in Their Rooms
For The Son
Joanna Gilman Hyde 