April 5th, The Hawk West Desk Window 10:50pm
Tonight I Hear The Peepers First
A Sound I Hold So Dear
Heralding My Spring To Me
Allaying All I Fear
Such As Death
So Near To Me
I Read Of Just That Fate
For One Guy F. Tozzoli In New York
Who Permitted Me To Paint
The Tomato-coloured Couch 6:50pm
In High School I painted
two “straight-edge” paintings —
one inspired by a dream of heavy orange magnet shapes
forming a bridge with plexi-glass topping —
another titled “Moon Vomit” with the profile
of Our Moon Face streaming down streaks of Blue, Green and Silver —
These Paintings were given to an Italian Sculptor Friend
in NYC when I left the city
— I thought He could paint on the backs of the canvas —
but over twenty-five years later
when I inquired as to Their Whereabouts
He emailed Me that His Former Wife had destroyed Them
along with other belongings —
did She destroy The Head of Me
sculpted by Romolo Del Deo —
Whose old letters I have since trashed?
The Tomato-coloured Couch 4:57pm
I’ve been mismatched All My Life
yet all these cock-eyed relationships
have lead to The Castle I now occupy:
My Beautiful Home By The Sea
housing six cats, All My Artwork
& thirty pounds of diaries
The Tomato-coloured Couch 5:45pm
I’ve consulted an auctioneer
as to the possibility of selling off
My Family’s Letters, Memorabilia
Battles Between Offspring
& Every Valentine From 1947
to The Early 80’s
when My Grandparents Died —
but My Husband doesn’t think
I should
& My Daughter thinks
I wouldn’t get more than $20.00
The Hawk Kitchen 9:37am
I floated down The Hudson River
on a cloud of pink
baby pink
but I had eyes
& could see My Parents
incestuous playmates
together at The Waterfalls
of Snedens Landing
I impregnated My Mother
& She tried to gallop on a horse
to get rid of Me
but since I stayed
She wanted Me
& stuck to Me like horse glue
The first year of human-hood
was spent in Africa
for My Father to teach Africans
how to drive tractors
& for My Mother to give dinner parties to African Dignataries
where Dr Schweitzer held Me
on His Lap
& looked at My Toes
As soon as My Mother & I came home by freighter
Howard was born
& He became My New Shadow
The Hawk Deck 10:37am
Our Mother raised us single-handedly
while Our Father, back from Africa & Divorced
toiled fruitlessly on a dairy farm
Howard & I grew into
robust teenagers
— He a musician
— I an artist
laden down
by My Mother’s Failed Love Affair
with a famous Jazz Player
Fuck This Shit —
I’m not laden down by anything:
Mother’s Old Lost Love
Her Early Death By Malignant Brain Tumour
My Shower of Unintelligible Light
on March 31st, 1993
Brother’s Dying on a Jail-house Floor
or Years of Depression
with My Daughter’s Early Childhood Memories
of Her Mother Lying In Bed
or Hospitalized for Weeks On End
That Daughter has just finished
washing Her Boyfriend’s
Black Dodge Ram 1500
& It’s Drying
in Perfect
Sun
The Tomato-coloured Couch 7:35pm
I caught an internal breath
after hanging The Preserved Newspaper Clipping
from The New York Times Book Review
dated June 4,1978 —
“Be A Literary Critic! Earn Big Bucks!”
hung first by Scotch Tape
in My Mother’s Valley Cottage Study
now hung, framed, in My Hawk Kitchen —
Did My Heart Really Skip
as I thought of My Literary Mother
Who, when I was eleven,
redacted Nova Scotia’s License Plate Slogan
“Canada’s Ocean Play Ground”
with black electricians tape?
The Hawk Deck 9:44am
Don’t Write, even though
You’re out on Your Deck
in a Red Deck Chair
in Your Purple Robe
Don’t Write
even though You can hear The Waves
You Love
past The Scrub Spruce
Don’t Write
that You can hear The Crows, Gulls
The First Mourning Dove
Don’t Write
that there’s No Wind
& You’re drinking Your Morning Tea
with Your Sun Glasses on
to watch The Glittering off The Sea
The Tomato-coloured Couch 6:30pm
My Mother’s Death is sewed up
in that wretched little town —
I don’t have to live there any-more —
Her House is sold with The Shower of Lights
fixed in a poem
I’ll never set foot again
inside that sordid little hospital
where She was stationed for over a year
& where She Evaporated Into Thin Air
on A Saturday Night
twenty years ago
Joanna Gilman Hyde 