The Hawk Kitchen 2:22pm
Daughter, It’s Time
to hang Your Red Roses
upside down to dry
It’s Time to Preserve
Their Message
of Love & Devotion & Faith
from The Young Man
Who has You
for Now
The Hawk Queen Bed 9:45am
I have bled A Perfect Heart
on My Side of The Bed
It sits here while We drink
Our Coffee
& contemplate the day
ahead
I go with My Vision
of sorts: Brand New Head
for Hunter has told Me
I don’t need a partner
A Relationship instead
Rudder’s Yarmouth February 16th 6:00pm
I feel like a Little Girl
at a Valentine’s Birthday Party
with My Fake Margarita
sitting at My Table for One
I’m ready for Anything
The Musician has already been
acquainted:
“My Brother was a Musician
He played The Clarinet & Saxophone
— He’s dead now —
He lived in Yarmouth for quite a while”
“The Name Is Familiar “
I turned to My Club and Fries
and left early
for The Vagina Monologues
The Hawk Bench of Fortification 2:45pm
Through My Anger
Through My Female God’s Anger
I will Construct
not peace (that’s so old it hurts)
I will Construct
a New Way of Seeing
for The Whole Planet
— oh, It may take Some Time —
but I’m aiming to use My Time
until I Die, and then some
The Hawk Queen Bed 9:31am
I have woken up to My House in a mess
Eggplant Parmesan has gone uneaten
kitty litter litters Our Bathroom
& has scattered down The Stairs
— it’s The Weekend —
there’ll be no carpenters to work
on Hunter’s Library
but He’s making coffee for Me
I have a window open
& can hear a first bird
of Spring
–
10:30am
The Golden Arches Lay
flattened by last week’s wind
crumpled slightly on the lot
of McDonald’s in Barrington
turned upside down
at closer range
I see Their configuration
as the cartoon drawing
of dangling tits
–
10:42am
My Black Journal lays
on My Lap against My Bare Legs
I’m still in My Black Nightgown
with Black Underwear
My Titties are contained
in a Black Sports Bra
I have drunk My Coffee
& Hunter is Up
eating His Sticky Buns
The West Desk Window 11:26pm
I have been arranging My Daughter’s Roses
for years it seems
at least since We moved to The Hawk
when bouquets started coming through the front door
from boyfriends and mothers
— some ended up dried
to be arranged again in fake crystal
or an old pewter pitcher —
tonight the heftiest bunch of all
came in with fluid-providing tubes
& baby’s breath to be thrown away
as I clipped twelve stems
stood Them in My heaviest vase
& carried The Arrangement
upstairs to Her Dresser
Joanna Gilman Hyde 