My Husband/Doctor tells Me
The Sound of The Waves
works on The Pleasure Centres
of My Brain
like a narcotic, like opium
or nicotine or cocaine
& I say The Sound relaxes & invigorates–
I am addicted to The Surf–
It crept up on Me
over the course of these two years
& I never knew I could be so healthy
Just as I was gauging My Happiness Quotient
I mangled a spider
in the laundry line wheel–
before resuming My Favourite Chore
I had to leave My Deck
to get a tissue
to sop up the yellow blob
of That Instant
I spy a stalwart Robin
perched on My Neighbour’s Laundry Pole
–
I watch awhile
until She flies
down to the grass
& there goes My Poem
–
Oh My God — She’s Back!
–
I forgot The Fog–
The Fog is wafting past Her
The Hedge is rustling below Her–
–
Oh, There She Goes–
I am waiting in The Fog
with audible surf
and the occasional call
from a sea bird
–
waiting for The World
to collapse
but I somehow doubt It will:
The World is like A Very Strong Mother–
She may lie down for a nap
but always fixes supper
She may live in Her Bathrobe
yet maintains Her Modesty
She cleans when She feels like it
and gets Her Children to clean up
after Themselves
–
She loves everybody in Her House
Her Home is Her Sanctuary
She Is Her Own World
1/2 of India sits
in The World’s Largest Blackout
I sit on My Deck
with My Black Astro
lying across Me
while I wait
for a call from My Realtor
maybe with an offer
on My Mother’s Island House
complete with Windmill
& Solar Tracker
Joanna Gilman Hyde 