The Tomato-coloured Couch 8:25pm
My Parents have never seen this room
or been anywhere near it —
They’re dead
& I’m glad
so I can enjoy The Rain
on The Skylights
& The Fog Horn
on The Cape
alone
& grown up
The Tomato-coloured Couch 2:11pm
Nearly every morning
I gear up for My 4,000 Metre Row
on My Concept 2 Rowing Machine
with computerized clock:
My Columbia Shell Shorts
Sportex Sports Bra
Joe Fresh Sleeveless Grey Under-shirt
Anklet Sox from Eliza
& Old Nike Sneakers
make Me —
into The Basement I go
to put Classic Vocal Trance
on The Hulk (My Husband’s biggest computer)
& warm up with four rounds each
of personal exercises
I wipe down the C2 bar
on-which the seat slides
& strap My Self into the foot rests
I pull the handles
& focus My Vision on the in-out motion
of the chain
& watch The Clock
like a Hawk
for 11 Minutes & 22 Seconds
— take a clocked break upstairs —
— drink from My LIFE Glass —
& go back down to hit
22:22
The Hawk West Desk Window 11:45am
My Children live
in temporary housing:
Peak’s is an 8′ x 12′ cubicle
in a modular unit
furnished by Cenovus
in Alberta —
Eliza’s is a room in the basement
of a house owned by a single mother
5 minutes away from Acadia University
These are the rooms
meant for not much more than laying down One’s Head —
the private enclaves of worker and student —
These are the habitats of youth
on the move
on Their Way to achieving
some semblance of
permanance
The Hawk West Desk Window 10:11pm
This First New Year’s Eve
for My “of age” Daughter
saw Her donning black stockings
in the back of My Ford Fusion
& tripping out to Her Fete (circumflex)
in Italian pressed leather heels
from Her Mother’s 1984
The Hawk West Desk Window 10:00pm
My Daughter was born
into a pool of water
and lifted up
like Venus Rising
with a beauty from another world
Eliza’s Out Now
at a drinking party
showing off reindeer sweaters:
She’s in one from Me
and Her Boyfriend’s in one
knitted by My Mother
for Her High School Sweetheart
The Tomato-coloured Couch 4:50pm
I am The Intellectual
sitting cross-legged on My Tomato-coloured Couch
drinking lemon-flavoured seltzer
from My Life Message Glass
–
I gaze from My Central Candle
to The Winter Window
& wonder when My “Good Morning, World!”
will enter every household
The Hawk Queen Bed 12:40pm
I am The Black Crow Lady
right fist clutching at My Heart
No More Supper For My Family
No Care As To Where The Food Comes From
Or Who Makes It
–
No More Ears For The Radio
only rain & sleet can calm Me now
–
No More quiet “Good Night”
I am about to yell out
a song so wild
You will wish Your Tinnitus
could consume You
The Tomato-coloured Couch 7:41pm
My Husband has given up
on trying to talk any sense
into Me.
He claims He no longer has any opinion
on what psychiatric diagnosis
might be responsible for My Skewered Reality.
He claims He will never speak again
of His Theory as to why I latched on
to a Little Scottish Doctor four days after
My Mother Died:
His Fifteen-year-old Theory that I had a symbiotic relationship
with My Mother, transferred onto The Little Man.
That My Husband may never discuss this subject again
should be a relief to Me
yet I find My Self in the foulest of moods.
Maybe I am getting
a menopausal period.
The Hawk Living Room 7:30pm
Eliza’s Roses this week
will not end up the dried out buds
of every previous batch
This Week They have unfurled —
One even revealing Its Perfect Whirl
within The Orange Nautilus
of My Mind
The Hawk Living Room 3:11pm
Guess how old I was
when I engaged
in the following activities:
–
Tearing into strips
the striped vinyl cover
to My Dollies’ changing table
& wadding the shreds
up in My Fists
to stuff in My Mother’s
waste paper basket
–
Clutching Two Hundred Wedding Photos
to My Chest & throwing Them
One By One
to The Night
along the ample length
of water frontage
in the Town of Shelburne
–
Emptying The Entire Contents
of My Second Husband’s Brief Case
cradling The Papers in My Arms
casting Them aside
Piece By Piece
into The Twilight
along one mile of old rail road track
through Barrington Passage
–
On a clear day in June
Shredding Five Known Copies
of My Own Manuscript
So Long Sam
taking seven hours
consuming as many beers
& putting Three Bags Full
out by the side of the road
Joanna Gilman Hyde 