I Rub My Eyes
I Am The Child
no longer fettered by toys
I had no favourites
as I do Now:
My Silver Pen
My Journals
They are My Tools
–
I threw a dolly
with a pin in her stomach
into a closet
and scratched out The Faces
of female dolls
in a print above My Bed–
leaving the Boy Clown alone
He Was My Friend
–
I use the trappings of fashion Now
to parade My Self around
to say I Am Here
This Is Where
I Belong
and I Can See
You
Through Adult Eyes
I am Mrs Dr W Hunter Blair
I sit on My Deck
& write poetry
I dress for The Weather
& whatever else is going on
I listen to The Sheets & Towels
fluttering on the line
I listen to The Birds
The Waves
& whatever else is going on
I listen
I write
for Joanna Gilman Hyde
Here I sit in My Black Slip
of a Nightgown
waiting for The World to End
waiting for All Our Global Assets
to fall apart
to be rearranged
to be supported
by All The Silver & Gold
We can possibly carry
Joanna Gilman Hyde 