The Hawk Kitchen Outpost 9:28am
EYE have The Purity
of a dream —
like The Tears I Shed
on The Shoulder
of a grieving widow —
like The Silver Line
of wake behind
a fishing boat
along My Shimmering Ocean —
loved
The Tomato-coloured Couch 7:03pm
My Power
Black Power
boils up in Me
at the drop of a line
in an instant
when I see kids smoking
or when I stand beside
a big black TV screen
& want to make it Silver
It boils up anywhere
anytime
& catches Me
& Anyone around Me
off guard
when My red blood cells
are called into overtime
when My Eyes take in
My surroundings
in an instant
I become strident
authoritative
under My Spell
The West Desk Window 11:24am
I am luxuriating in The Full Viewing
of My Beautiful Bird of Paradise
I watch Him from My Vehicle
at the side of Hawk Point Road
My Neck craned to My Left
I gaze across Tidal Flats
at The Break in The Dunes
where Storm Waves wash in
small fry
for My Beautiful Long-legged, Long-necked Friend
Who wades so prominently
through One Grand Pool
to fish at Four Glorious Intervals
before I allow My Self
to finish driving home
to fix Lunch
For Eliza’s First Camping Trip
with A Boy
She & He bought A Six-man Tent
A Pink Fishing Rod
They rigged & set minnow traps
out of plastic pop bottles
& just drove out Our Driveway
in The Boy’s Big Black Truck
to get last-minute groceries
–
Eliza’s Made Reservations for Their Grounds–
Camp Fires are Regulated
The Fire Index is High
Joanna Gilman Hyde 