Joanna Gilman Hyde

"Good Morning, World!"

Tag: birds

FOR MARY ELLEN

The Hawk Portico 2:22pm

The waves speak to Me

not as a neighbour would

but as a mother might:

“Shhh, Joge, Shhh

Everything Will Be Al-right “

The birds speak to Me

of the waves beyond

as if the chirps & calls

& singular silver notes

are accent marks

to the surging shoreline

The fog speaks to Me

through the echo of its horn

semi-distant

complimenting

the readied speech

of melodic birds

& the steady rush

of tide

The insects speak to Me

landing on My Pages

as if in observation

of My finalizing penmanship

telling Me to go ahead

“Soak it all in and

let it all out”

PLACES I HAVE KNOWN

The Hawk Deck 11:15am

The Birds of My Childhood —

I have Them All Here:

The Back Woods Jay Squawk

of Valley Cottage

The Low Brush Cheep

of The Chick-a-dee-dee-dee

The Harsh Cawing of The Morning Crow

on McNutt’s Island

The Hearkening Bleat

of The Summer Willet

from My Old Jordan Bay

These places I will never see again

but They Call to Me Still

FLIRTATION

The Hawk Kitchen 8:45am

How can I be depressed, even slightly

in My Beautiful Kitchen

with The Sun beaming in

& My Husband staying home from work

to be with Me?

9:40am

I have on My Thick Grey Robe

for comfort when I’m down

drinking a cup of tea

eking out the last of The Sun

The Hawk Portico 5:05pm

Low Blood Sugar or No Blood Sugar

(something’s wrong with the reader)

I’m in a mini depression

saved only by getting My Hair done

& sitting out here

on The Portico

in mild fall sun

the purging of waves

& the double squawk of a Jay

repeated on His Wire

THE FULL POTENTIAL OF THE DAY

The Hawk Deck

11:00 am

Eye am dressed in solid grey

& un-ironed white linen

sitting on The Deck, quiet

My Daughter, visiting from College

has just fed Gully

some old rice cakes

& The Crows are subdued

in the trifling fog

A CALL TO ARMS

The Hawk Portico 9:11pm

I Am The Call

Of The Black Crow

Outside My Kitchen Deck

Insistent, Declarative

Hungry For Any Response

In The Awakening Distance

Of Our Waiting World

THE TIME OF LINKAGE

The Hawk Family Room 9:11am

I am seeing ahead of My Self

to The Time Of Linkage

between The Black Crow

hanging in My Living Room

to “Good Morning, World!”

floating on My TV Screen

veiled over by The Shroud

of My World Trade Center Roof Top Painting

titled Self Organizing Galaxy

STILL

The Hawk Deck 8:51am

The Sea is liquid silver

in these early morning hours

I take solace in The Surf

to The North of where I sit

soaking in a last day of summer

with birds abuzz & cats

stirring on The Deck

THE CROWN

The Hawk Queen Bed 9:30pm

Today I drove past A Big Black Crow

perched atop a pile of dirt

He struck Me by His Blackness

compared to the organic colouration of brown

He stood as The Finial Of Dignity

above a mountain of earth

His Mountain — His Keep

–singularly His Post —

The Crow made the brown Truly Brown

His Black was Truly Black

MY BOOK NAMED “SAM”

The Hawk Deck 10:45am

Two years ago I spent

an entire afternoon

shredding five copies of a 364-page manuscript

I wrote after My Mother died

I set up the shredder from My Husband’s office

and opened the first of five bottles of beer

In those next seven hours

There went all the sections, chapters

ten pages at a time

with the shredder quitting every twenty minutes —

There went the first chapter

of My Tragic Brother overlapping

My Mother’s diagnosis

October 2, 1991

of a malignant brain tumour —

There went the chapters on living

with Her Illness and Decline

There went the chapter on The Death

March 27, 1993

There went the chapter on The Cremation

with The Chickadee’s Visit

There went Me

on no sleep

for four days — There went

The Shower of Silver Lights

on March 31st, 1993

There went The Little Doctor

calling Me a “Seer” on April Fool’s Day —

There went The First Depression

There went The Magical Moment

October 22, 1993 with The Little Doctor

There went The Telepathic Message

with Him :  Dr David Hamilton Wilson

There went My Second Pregnancy —

The Baby Girl I Dreamt Up —

infant I breast fed until She was two*

There went the section on writing the book

and getting literally lost in My Work

on a rented computer

There went subsequent depressions

Dreams of The Little Doctor

There went forever, maybe,

the description of My Childhood Parrot “Sam”

whose faulty clipping job I attempted

at My age of eleven which left him

unable to fly in My Bedroom

(which for some reason I didn’t want Him to do)

but left Him able only to veer off in sickly circles

until I had to give Him up to another little girl

when He became a problem at the Canadian/US border

at each summer crossing

Finally there went the last line of the book

which I will always have, written in June of 1996

as a married woman:

“The Bird In My Hand Is Worth Two In My Bush”

*Daughter Eliza now looking for possible surviving copy

2:00pm — Daughter Eliza FOUND IT in My Stepmother’s farmhouse in Vermont

REMNANTS

The Hawk Portico 5:46pm

I hear The Chickadee

& an outboard motor

& think of My Mother

My Mother traversing the waves

to get out to Mc Nutt Island

A Place I swore never

to forget

yet It has caused Me pain

& grief when She died

but I own Her house no longer

merely some land

which My Children

are destined

to inherit