The Hawk Kitchen Outpost 7:56am
A bank of silvery clouds
is broken at the horizon
with a band of light
above the ocean
Today is The Day
I see My Children
together as a pair
grown & out there
leading Their Own Lives
The Hawk Kitchen 8:13pm
I have A Magic Pendant
It is Black & White
I wear It always around My Neck
to let It clarify My Sight
My Brother had One
made of Silver
It was Our Mother’s
Oh How He Loved Her!
He dangled Its chain
& let It swing
to answer Yes one way
or No the other
He saw His Way
out of any dilemma
& told His Fortune
to His Gods
He struck a deal
with His Death
that He would be remembered
as a Man of Steel
safely stowed
in The Land of Nod
The Tomato-coloured Couch 8:44pm
Women are burning up
all over this fair world
They’re trying to make supper
& carrying on conversations
at the same time
talking about what it’s like
to have all The Power
& no place to put it
The Hawk Kitchen 2:10pm
I stood in The Portal
of My House
waving good-bye
to My Husband after
lunch —
I stood
as A Woman
not just of The House
but of The World
The Hawk Living Room 12:34pm
When I learned to walk
in Africa
I stooped over
& squatted
in The Sands of Gabon
to pick up spiral shells
to lift into
My Mother’s
View
Eliza’s Room 2:30pm
I live in a lavender room
where I have pulled up
the curtain against a backdrop
of rolling waves
and scrub spruce tree tops
above a painted chest
housing My Mother’s Childhood Diaries
I am sanctified
in My Daughter’s Room
where The Out-stretched Quilt
of rippling bands of purple
spreads Itself beneath two walls
of My World Trade Center Rooftop Painting
titled Self Organizing Galaxy
and beneath My Signature
in three-foot-high letters
coloured Black
The Tomato-coloured Couch 6:30pm
How valuable is My Time
when I have so much of It?
I can get a call
from My Son stocking groceries for His Drive
to Mexico from Vancouver
while I linger in Nova Scotia
with My Shopping Cart in the snack isle
of Sobey’s
an hour before My Manicure Appt.
taking all the time I need
to say Good-bye
The Hawk Window Seat 12:22pm
I have put up
a sheer lavender curtain
— one that Eliza didn’t like —
in Her vacated lavender room
now to be used for Guests
Who may never come
— the curtain has purple carnations
scattered across it
without obscuring the view
of rolling surf beyond
The Tomato-coloured Couch 5:20pm
I knew a daughter once
with long thick wavy hair
dark
Who couldn’t speak
except to yell
a guttural cry
in any public place —
Her Mother named Her Winter
& told Me a doctor said
at the snowy October birth
“Either You’re going to die
or Your Baby will”
Joanna Gilman Hyde 