These Are The Neighbourhood Sounds
Which Drive Me Off My Deck:
Lawnmowers
Weed Eaters
Auto Body Grinders
Skill Saws
Chain Saws
Various Hammerings
Is That Enough?
–
These Are The Sounds That Keep Me:
The Waves
The Surf
The Fog Horns
The Peepers
The Wind in The Leafy Hedge
The Birds — Jays, Crows, Gulls, Willets,
Mourning Doves, Robins, Grackles, Starlings, Warblers, Chickadees
Isn’t That Enough?
–
What do The Gulls think
when They eat a food They’ve never had —
like Spanish Rice and Sausage —
What do The Crows think?
I HAVE POLISHED MY SILVER TORCH
Join Me In My Fundamental Guidance
–Yes, There Is God
No, We Are Not Dying–
We are Self Organizing
re-distributing Our Wealth
in All Forms:
Our Wealth of Individuality
Our Wealth of Spirituality
Our Wealth of Divine Intelligence
& Our Every-day Intelligence
We are going somewhere
& that Place is
The Here & Now
–
Join Me In My Fundamental Guidance
–You need not be “saved”
You, We, Need To Be Applauded–
Applaud Us, Ourselves
We Are The Ones Who Are Praise-worthy
God is Our Audience
Yet God is Our Substance
Our Flesh & Blood
Our Brains
Our Mind
The Silver Torch Is Lit
for Us
The Inseparable
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
Locked in The Cradle of Security
with Dr Blair’s soothing Right Hand
along My Left Forearm
My Window is open to The Shush of Southerly Waves
My Insides digest a pill of Olanzapine
& I Am Set Free
to Go To Sleep
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–
The Hawk Deck 7:20 pm
HOUSES I HAVE WORKED ON
If My Mother worked on a house
does that count for Me?
She rubbed lemon oil into My Father’s Furniture
before the move to McNutt Island
when I was a child–
I did re-paint My Bedroom there
before the arrival of My First Husband
Then He & I pregnant with Our First Born
built The Thoreau House–
the one-room post & beam
We wouldn’t sell for a million dollars
He & I fixed up The Shakespeare House
in Shelburne for My Mother–
She paid us–
& then We bought our own
with no electricity & no plumbing–
I put My Soul into that Atlantic House
if not My Heart
& then My Mother died
& My Days of House-fixing were over.
–
I had Eliza & an affair
with an adoring doctor–
My Second Husband now–
& The House He & I have on The Hawk
should be My Final Resting Place–
though I feel It may not be
despite all the trim here
I have painted:
Living Room, Dining Room
Family Room, Hallway
Balcony, Stairs
& Corner Room–
and all The Artwork I have hung
Joanna Gilman Hyde 