Joanna Gilman Hyde

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Tag: Elizabeth Walden Hyde

October 16, 2013

THE SEALED FATE OF PETER LYNN HAEGHAERT

The Tomato-coloured Couch 11:30am

I met a Nice Young Man

with a husk in His Voice

on the pedestrian walk-up

to The Yarmouth — Portland Ferry

New Year’s Eve 1985

–

I had been dumped on the highway

by My Arguing Mother

and had to get a ride to New York

–

Peter Lynn Haeghaert was His Name

and He had been visiting His Father for Christmas

After discovering We were both visiting parents

and We were both artists

He agreed to drive Me into New York City even though

He lived on the Eastern End of Long Island

We caught the tail end of a Holiday Inn Party

and shared a room and slept in separate beds

–

Not only was Peter an artist — He was available

In January I invited Him to an ice cream party

and He drove the fifty miles into The City

and took Me out to dinner

In February He sent Me a home-made Valentine

–

I didn’t see Peter again until May

when I went out to Sag Harbour

armed with Two Friends

Who liked His Blond Apartment

and the $50.00 picnic He bought for Us

which We enjoyed on a beach

in the company of a topless Irish girl

On the way back to NYC, one of My Friends

suggested I ask Peter His Birthday

and when It was discovered to be June 22

plans were swiftly made

to visit again, this time picking strawberries

& drinking champagne

–

Our last official date, numbering Four

Peter chartered two tickets

aboard a sail boat for The Statue of Liberty Centennial

with it’s 4th of July fanfare of food and fireworks

–

Peter came into New York City one last time

before we planned to go to Nova Scotia together

but He didn’t stay as long as I would have liked

& I deliberately slept with someone else

–

August in Nova Scotia

My Mother cornered Peter on Her Island Bed

with coffee in the morning

and asked Peter what His Intentions were:

Peter looked at Me and smiled

and said

“I would like to marry Joanna

and live in Nova Scotia”

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October 6, 2013

A BIRTHDAY

The Hawk Portico 6:00pm

I have shed The Cloak

of Both My Parents

and That Which I shared with My Brother

Who would have been 51 today*

–

I am The Sole Survivor

of That Family

The Family I was born headlong into —

My “Old” Family —

as I have wrapped My Self anew

within Hunter, My Grown Children

and 7 Cats

*My brother Howard Talbot Walden Hyde was killed November 22, 2007, while in custody. His death prompted the three-year Hyde Inquiry which found his death to be accidental due to restraint by jail guards — namely one Henwood.

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August 26, 2013

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”

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July 10, 2013

PLAY ME

The Hawk Library 6:11pm

Dr Blair Play Me

like the remote

that came with Your New Air Conditioner

play all the buttons

over & over

beneath the old portraits

of My Mother, Her Gay Lover

& My Grandfather —

lull Me into submission

down below the New Device

creating cool new air

breathing upon

Our Marriage

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June 15, 2013

MY ULTRA-VISION IS SILVER

The Hawk West Desk Window 2:25pm

My Ultra-vision is Silver

even in a sudden black-out

on a Saturday Afternoon

with dinner guests scheduled to arrive

@ 6:00

I have polished the salt shaker

but not the candelabra

I have set the table

with My Mother’s Silverware

— The Dish, Chicken Polenta, is prepared —

— just has to bake —

when & if My Electric Oven

turns on

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May 30, 2013

WHAT MIGHT SHE HAVE SEEN?

The Tomato-coloured Couch 2:15pm

I do not wonder at My Father’s Death —

how It was for Him

as I wonder at My Mother’s

My Father may have been asleep —

He died in the night

as far as I know

but My Mother was wide, wide

awake

& blazed Her Eyes open

except for one torturous blink

which opened back up

in Her Last Guttural Heave

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May 20, 2013

BRIDGE

The Hawk Basement 3:30pm

I have two poems

swirling around in My Head:

The First represents The Shadow of a trinket

bauble, gem, charm, jewel

cast upon My Basement Wall

to the immediate right

of My Rowing Machine’s Arm

It is The Configuration

of a diamond ring

tipped to the right

& out from underneath It

falls, clatters

a rain of darker pieces, shapes

of raw concrete

spilling to the floor

meeting the extension of The Shadow

cast by the elongated arm

–

The Second is of My Mother & My Daughter:

While I was driving to pick up My Daughter

The Shadow of My Mother took over, briefly

& the car in front of Me

held My Daughter’s initials

& I, as Mother & Daughter

was The Bridge

I am The Bridge

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April 2, 2013

BASEMENT FILES

The Tomato-coloured Couch 5:45pm

I’ve consulted an auctioneer

as to the possibility of selling off

My Family’s Letters, Memorabilia

Battles Between Offspring

& Every Valentine From 1947

to The Early 80’s

when My Grandparents Died —

but My Husband doesn’t think

I should

& My Daughter thinks

I wouldn’t get more than $20.00

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March 31, 2013

THE CREATIONIST

The Hawk Kitchen 9:37am

I floated down The Hudson River

on a cloud of pink

baby pink

but I had eyes

& could see My Parents

incestuous playmates

together at The Waterfalls

of Snedens Landing

I impregnated My Mother

& She tried to gallop on a horse

to get rid of Me

but since I stayed

She wanted Me

& stuck to Me like horse glue

The first year of human-hood

was spent in Africa

for My Father to teach Africans

how to drive tractors

& for My Mother to give dinner parties to African Dignataries

where Dr Schweitzer held Me

on His Lap

& looked at My Toes

As soon as My Mother & I came home by freighter

Howard was born

& He became My New Shadow

The Hawk Deck 10:37am

Our Mother raised us single-handedly

while Our Father, back from Africa & Divorced

toiled fruitlessly on a dairy farm

Howard & I grew into

robust teenagers

— He a musician

— I an artist

laden down

by My Mother’s Failed Love Affair

with a famous Jazz Player

Fuck This Shit —

I’m not laden down by anything:

Mother’s Old Lost Love

Her Early Death By Malignant Brain Tumour

My Shower of Unintelligible Light

on March 31st, 1993

Brother’s Dying on a Jail-house Floor

or Years of Depression

with My Daughter’s Early Childhood Memories

of Her Mother Lying In Bed

or Hospitalized for Weeks On End

That Daughter has just finished

washing Her Boyfriend’s

Black Dodge Ram 1500

& It’s Drying

in Perfect

Sun

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March 30, 2013

LITERARY MOTHER

The Tomato-coloured Couch 7:35pm

I caught an internal breath

after hanging The Preserved Newspaper Clipping

from The New York Times Book Review

dated June 4,1978 —

“Be A Literary Critic! Earn Big Bucks!”

hung first by Scotch Tape

in My Mother’s Valley Cottage Study

now hung, framed, in My Hawk Kitchen —

Did My Heart Really Skip

as I thought of My Literary Mother

Who, when I was eleven,

redacted Nova Scotia’s License Plate Slogan

“Canada’s Ocean Play Ground”

with black electricians tape?

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