Here I sit in My Black Slip
of a Nightgown
waiting for The World to End
waiting for All Our Global Assets
to fall apart
to be rearranged
to be supported
by All The Silver & Gold
We can possibly carry
10:48am
I look at the water dazzle
& think of what to write
I’ve been with Hunter
thirteen years
& not without a fight
–
11:00am
I want to climb into bed
like A Child
& hold onto My Daddy’s Head
from here to infinity
wild
OK ‘cuz now He’s dead
–
11:22am
A Butterfly has inspected
Me
I don’t know where She’ll
Land
perhaps on Someone Else’s
Lips
or in a Friendship’s
Hand
The Call of The Jay
is of My Childhood
but Here It Comes
with A View of The Atlantic
–
I have angled My Chair
to fit This Ocean:
a solid blue swath
merging with spruce
punctuated with birds
& topped by cumulus cloud
I See A Piece Of The Universe
on My Husband’s Urban Tribe Sweater
washed in Tide
in and out Tide
& dried in Bounce
to get The Fuzz off —
but I’m afraid
I’ll have to use
The Lint Brush
Now
What Do I See On My Lint Brush?
INDUCTING THE BLACK SWAN
I have seen The Post Card
from Tommy of Mexico
wilted on My Daughter’s Mirror
across from Her Bed
where I first met
The Boyfriend of Currency
–
Today I do The Laundry
Dressed In Black:
Black Tank, Black Capris
with My Silver Necklace
& Silver Hoops
–
Hunter, My Practising Husband/Doctor
may not go to Work
tomorrow
and I may not
see a friend
I Live In Canada
where a friendly neighbour’s flag
lifts itself to My Side
of The Lawn
flanked by The Space
of Ocean Beyond
It’s The Flag I Use
for Determining Direction
of The Wind
for Gauging The Space
of My Life Before Me
here in This Sea Coast Town
of My Own Choosing
The Cats have lacerated
The Posts
on The Deck
but We don’t care
–It’s An Old Deck–
–no paint–
& We Love The Cats
& have no trees nearby
except for The Scrub Spruce
& That’s too far
for Half-a-Dozen Cats
Joanna Gilman Hyde 