The Hawk West Desk Window 2:40pm
We get into our vehicular shells
& have no idea
Who might happen to see Us
& be affected by the colour
or shape
of what We’re driving
or by Who’s at The Wheel
The Tomato-coloured Couch 5:40pm
Oh that spinning game
where the grown-up grabs
the child’s wrists
& swings him/her around
& around
am I in this game
in the path of Earth & Moon
& that Adult —
Who is He?
The Tomato-coloured Couch 5:30pm
I married Him under apple boughs
on The Island of My Mother
and when She died
six years later
I would love another
–
I went to see Our Marital House
to see Eliza there
to deliver dishcloths
She was wanting
to see how She had cared
enough to put a sprig of apple
in a bottle neck deep and red
It glowed upon a kitchen sill
I have nothing left to dread
no more hurting husbands
no more dying pets
I am free now
in My Life
even to forget
The Hawk Deck 9:32am
I have seen The Little Grey & Yellow Bird
open Its Beak, twice,
to sing Its Morning Tune
to fly away
& return
to chirp again
and so all is right
in My World
My Painting will lead The Way
to The Global Stabilization
We are awaiting
in Our Hearts
& Mind
The Tomato-coloured Couch 2:15pm
I do not wonder at My Father’s Death —
how It was for Him
as I wonder at My Mother’s
My Father may have been asleep —
He died in the night
as far as I know
but My Mother was wide, wide
awake
& blazed Her Eyes open
except for one torturous blink
which opened back up
in Her Last Guttural Heave
The Tomato-coloured Couch 12:15pm
This Morning My Daughter reported waking
to the song of multitudinous bird-life
the dehumidifier tray was full
but She had no hot water
in The Atlantic House —
My First Marital Home
with Eliza’s Father
Who picked the colours
& built an addition
complete with screened-in porch
off Our New Bedroom
I sat out there in the shelter of the screens
in My Post-Mother’s-Death Depression
& wondered, along with everyone else,
why I was not happy
The Hawk Portico 7:44pm
I have an attitudinal stance
toward The Surf
Its Sound
projects My Hips forward
My Arms are casually folded
My Head juts
from a profile view
I might be sloped like an S
from the back
I would look held in
crouched
like The Nautilus
Joanna Gilman Hyde 