DICHOTOMY
Eye bought Silver Satin Sheets
for The Man Eye Cannot Have
but made My Bed with old
brown flannel bottom
and holy cream top
for The Man Who Is My Husband
Eye bought Silver Satin Sheets
for The Man Eye Cannot Have
but made My Bed with old
brown flannel bottom
and holy cream top
for The Man Who Is My Husband
The Hawk Kitchen Outpost 3:20pm
How dare anyone
infiltrate My Sanctuary —
especially The Father of My 2.4 Children —
here to The North I have
the forest of scrub spruce I love
the stone wall upon which I contemplated
smashing My Precious Life Glass —
how dare anyone
even a neighbour I like
enter across My Eastern Ocean View
upon which I gaze with such favour —
out there I can let My Mind
be free — free of past
hurt and negation
free of obstacles to My Happiness
so profound
as I stand before
the shores
of My Intellect
The Tomato-coloured Couch 11:47am
How many galaxies
have I picked up
blown into corners
of My Universe —
how many have I created
wiping up cat hairs
off The Kitchen Ottoman
or The Thick Grey Bath Mat
turned inside My Toilet Bowl
and scrubbed hairless
with a wet cloth?
The Hawk Kitchen Outpost 7:50am
The Sunlight beams Its Silver
in on Me at My Window
of The Hawk Kitchen Outpost
where I wait for coffee water
to boil
and decide that today
is My First Suitable Day
for hanging out The Wash
The Hawk Queen Bed 10:22am
Spread out before Me
is My Unmade Bed
covered in rubbery white
against spills —
I see The Hairs of Life
embedded as the Theory
of Strings & Galaxies
against Our Backdrop
of Infinity
The Hawk Kitchen Outpost 3:28pm
I take out
My Star-studded Kitchen Mat
& shake It in The Wind —
I sweep the mangled cobwebs
off My Sliding Glass Door —
I keep My Green-checked Apron on
over My Peachy Capris
& cross My Knees
in My Grandmother’s
Wrought-iron Kitchen Chair
preparing to call a friend
The Hawk Kitchen 2:48pm
I know what it means
to be a housewife:
picking lint galaxies
off Your Husband’s Shirts
doing a light load of wash
for A Grown Daughter
Who’s off to be
with Her Grown Brother
wondering if Your Children will appear
for supper
The Hawk Kitchen 2:55pm
I put My green-checked apron
on over My Glittering Chains
dangling from Eliza’s left-over sweater
while a big black cat circles My Ankles —
I’m ready to make lasagna
for various dinners this week —
the first week for My Husband
in His New Town
The First for Me
as The Doctor’s Wife
