Joanna Gilman Hyde

"Good Morning, World!"

Tag: death

ARANEOUS

The Hawk Deck 6:35pm

What is That Woman doing

down there in Nova Scotia

weaving an insidious web

around the lives of men

helpless to avoid Her Mesh

of fantasy churned into reality:

a marriage & divorce producing

2.4 children — a second marriage

to The Silver Haired Doctor

Who fell, knowingly, into Her Trap

in 1999 & hasn’t got out —

the 3rd fatality She claims

She owes Her Life

but how will He materialize?

She calls Him

The Mastermind

WHAT IS THIS ABOUT?

The Hawk Living Room 1:40pm

I made My Way through

New York City

going to bed with men

just because they took Me

out to dinner

I married for Nova Scotia

& for My Mother

then I lost Her

somewhere on The High Seas

& gained an insight

into something no one else could

sea

except — there always has to be

An Except —

One Little Man

Who unwittingly took My Heart

while My Second Husband

has My Twat

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

NO KILL POLICY

The Hawk Deck 9:51am

I don’t kill Flies any-more —

if One’s in The House bugging Me

 I try to catch It against a window

in The Palm of My Hand

I feel It beating against

My Fingers

until I let It go

outside

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

BULLET-PROOF

The Hawk Portico 4:45pm

I think when I get shot

the bullet will feel cold

at first

just under My Right Shoulder Blade

I will feel as if I got hit

with a board

I will slump down

out of shock

more-so than out of

pain

“IT’S ALL PAID FOR — IT’S ON THE REFRIGERATOR”

The Tomato-coloured Couch 6:11pm

“Our Family deals with Its Dead

in a peculiar way

My Dad is buried under The Pine Tree named Helmuth

— Not My Dad but His Ashes —

We go sometimes & pour beer on Him

because He liked beer

He was in a one-gallon ice cream container

in the trunk of Mom’s Chevy Nova —

before The Pine Tree

My Father, Helmuth Art Putz, was in a beer stein

about a foot and a half tall

That Pine Tree grows exponentially —

Here’s Your Mom, in a golden box —

I was prying It open with a screwdriver —

I wasn’t sure if the ashes were really My Mother —

after We threw My Mom & Granmom into the river

— not Them, Their ashes —

We asked for a sign

all the lilly pads were stagnating

We threw in irises

a blue heron flew overhead

& the lilly pads lifted up”

LOOKING EAST

The Hawk Deck 7:30pm

Nothing will unhinge My Happiness

here —

no dying or dead parents

no deranged brother

no cloak of depression

only My Black Cat Astro

— if He were to die

I would be heart-broken:

My Happiness mauled to pieces

BUTTERFLY

The Hawk Portico 4:08pm

How many dead souls

can be attached to one

Butterfly?

No one near to Me has died

recently

yet there before My Stoop

flitted One for the taking

like The Birds

Who go unadorned

with such heraldry

I AM A BABY

The Hawk Queen Bed 6:30pm

I Am A Baby

In A Bassinet On A Beach

How Many Of Us Have Been Born On The Surging Crest?

How Many Of Us Will Die Upon The Ebb?

I Am Rocked To Sleep

By The Rhythm

I Am Awakened

To My Infancy