The Tomato-coloured Couch 6:48pm
My Preciousness I will dress for You
in White & Silver
to meet You at The Pearly Gates
with a bouquet of Almond Roses
I will take Your Right Hand with My Left
as I have longed to for these back-to-back decades
I will be in Contrast to Your Blackness
to Your Latency
I will provide The Opposition
for Our Reconciliation painted Grey
The Tomato-coloured Couch 5:10pm
Not even charging black dogs
could hold Me back
from The Offered Rose braced
against the sea shore stones
to let Me throw out
into the foaming tide
the detritus of My Mother’s Death
The Hawk Corner Room NOON
My Shower of Silver Lights
goes untainted
to shine BIGGER & BRIGHTER & BETTER
than It ever was
before
It’s Mine
ALL MINE
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
February 9th The Tomato-coloured Couch 6:58pm
The Internet is down
with a Red Exclamation Mark
notifying This Account
of no connection
I am connected
I am tuned in
on My Island attached
by a flooded causeway
to the rest of The Province
to the rest of The World
I could be, am I?
That Server
–
February 10th The Hawk Corner Room Noon
Can You make a poem
out of a News Report
of an eleven-year-old Boy
killed by carbon monoxide poisoning
while a Father shovelled snow
a Son kept warm
by an idling engine?
–
1:00pm
I could be that Determined Girl
Who shut Her Self in Her Room
stared at Her Self in Her Dresser Mirror
until The Glaring Face
moulded It Self into distorted patches
of brooding dark hues
I could have a lock-in
a lock-down
with the radio on for music
but not for News
The Hawk Corner Room 3:53pm
I was That Pouty Child
stomping Her Left Foot
when She couldn’t see
G-O-D written in The Sky
–
Forty-five years later I am
looking at The Clouds
billowing behind streams of flurries
out over The Ocean
when the notion of God
is no longer literal
Joanna Gilman Hyde 