Joanna Gilman Hyde

"Good Morning, World!"

Tag: childhood

JUNK MAIL

The Hawk Library 5:25pm

I sit across from The Golden Gleam

of My Husband’s Collection of Folio Books

it is here I can prepare My Dream

of Intelligence vs Intellect

recollect My Childhood Scheme

gathering boxes of My Mother’s Junk Mail

calling Them My “Indeportanz”

MORNING APPLE

The Hawk Deck 10:35am

I bit into My Morning Apple

and bit into The Fall

Eliza’s off to school next week

and I will be alone with Hunter

The Cats

and breezy lines of wash

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

ONE SOUND

The Hawk Deck 10:12am

How can One Sound

conjure up A Place

and A Time?

— It’s The Call Of The Jay

that does It for Me

That Authoritative Squawk

harkens back to My Childhood

growing up in The Woods

of Rockland County

where I was a bossy child neighbour

and control freak

to My Brother

THE WROUGHT IRON TABLE

The Hawk Deck 2:22pm

I was raised on an after-school diet

of fairy tales

listened to

on My Mother’s record player

with British accents I absorbed

the lamentations

of The Little Mermaid

Cinderella

Snow White

& Sleeping Beauty

& wrote in My First Adolescent Diary

“Could He Be The One?”

THE ISLAND

The Hawk West Desk Window August 13, 2013 11:19pm

I no longer think of The Island

as the insular respite I shared each summer

— shared as a pair of stalwarts

as I did with My Mother —

I now think of the broad expanse

of Nova Scotia imperialized

by Its undulating shoreline

to The South

housing Me now

permanently

on an island

off an island

and beyond

LOOK OUT

The Hawk Living Room 5:15pm

I can let the axe fall

on anyone:

husband

mortgagee

friend —

but not child

for a child

I have all praise

and sympathy

children are growing

into falsehood

and where innocence remains

I have unconditional love

BACK FROM NOVA SCOTIA

The Tomato-coloured Couch 4:15pm

Every September after Labour Day

Our Pets

recognized the smell of Rockland County

by lifting Their Noses to the humid air

crossing the Tapanzee Bridge

happy to be coming back

to Their Most Familiar Grounds

overgrown with dried leaves

and neglect —

They couldn’t be aware

of Our Mother’s apprehensions

for a house vacated by summer tenants:

She usually said

“The House isn’t too bad”

but complained about the yard

while I adjusted to sleeping

in the dark dense air

of My School Year Room

RADIO-ACTIVE

The Hawk West Desk Window 10:22am

I Am The Demonstrative Child

dancing naked in Her Babysitter’s living room

go ahead & look at Me

get stuff off Me

what I have to offer

is in My Mind

You can grab It —

The New Social Reform

but I put My Foot down

when The Song’s over