The Tomato-coloured Couch 5:50pm
I’m having a flash-back
back to when I was in
My Mother’s Womb — I knew then
I’d be a stocky blond
in red sneakers & a white gym suit
on The Roof of # 5 World Trade Center
& grow up to marry well
twice-over —
I knew then I would harbour
within the duration of My Existence
a pulling enticement
which when met
would give birth
to the ultimate contraction
between
young & old
&
I would live & die
in
one
moment
The Hawk Kitchen 2:59pm
an immobilized fly
knows no secrets
adhering, somehow, to the outside
of My Living Room Window
— I thought He was a spy —
when I wanted to write
“What Do I Most
Want To Say –“
and for Whom?
“For My Self”
— I saw He had died —
January 30th The Hawk Window Seat 5:56pm
From My Bedroom Window
The Sky View to The North West
affords, at nightfall,
a scape of salmon-coloured clouds
low to The Cape
glowing above the stalky spruce
with The Cape Light shining
flashing, emitted
from The Luminous South
January 30th The Hawk TV Room 4:30pm
The Space between My Ex Husband’s favourite shed
& a distant house
lays out the edge of Sky meeting Cape
with grey fuzziness of flurries
from a low lying bank of cloud
soaking into gold
against the dark swath
of dimming shore line
January 30th The Hawk Kitchen 2:30pm
I have seen The Hawk
again —
have I written of Him before?
flying in His full stateliness
outside My Kitchen Window
from The Scrub Spruce down
to The Shore
and back
again
The Hawk Queen Bed 10:22pm
“Hey Everybody! This is God
yes, G-O-D
One of You, All of You
here, as always, to tell Us
We have a correction to make —
in case You were wondering
I am female —
52 years old in Body
infinite in Mind:
Caucasian North American
with a psychiatric history
not permitted to carry a firearm
but I can wear a bullet-proof vest
to guard My Castle-by-the-sea
where I live with My Husband
the very popular Dr Blair
& My Daughter, the very beautiful Eliza
& seven cats —
I’m not kidding around —
on March 31st, 1993, after four days of no sleep
induced by the death of My Mother
I had The Shower Of Silver Lights
crash down on My Head —
I thought I was The Second Coming Of Christ
but I didn’t want to give Christianity
that much credit
so I simplified My Title
My Essence
into Those Three Little Letters
& no, I don’t knowingly control the weather —
it controls Me
& yes, I believe in eternity
& The Sacredness Of Human Life
OR I WOULDN’T BE HERE!!”
“It’s Time To Hear My Rallying Cry
to sort out Our Miseries
Organize
Our Desires
Our Abilities
forget Our failings
Uphold Honesty
for where has Honesty
gone?
It’s Time To Apprehend
My Leadership —
I offer up My Self
for I am One Human
Who has seen The Light
& Knows It To Be
The Light Of This World
Our Precious Little World”
The Hawk Dining Room 5:20pm
Cami, My Husband’s Ginger Calico
— petite —
sits perfectly on the window sill
looking at a figure walking
up a neighbour’s drive
while I look beyond
& above
to The Windswept Swells
rolling into shore
The Hawk Kitchen 9:15pm
The Pink Residue
of My Husband’s Berries
& Ice Cream
lining His Dark Ceramic Bowl
poised to go into
The Emptied Dishwasher
is no longer a dirty dish
but A Modulated Receptacle
filled with One
Gigantic
Universe
The Tomato-coloured Couch 7:25pm
I have re-visited
My Dark Doorway
to remember Those same wavy
strings of Cat Hair
— and dust —
now that The Snow Particles
are gone
What’s left
but Dark Matter
composing
the majority of material
making up The Scape
of Last Night’s Stars?
The Hawk Queen Bed 9:41pm
There’s a Star Scape
on The Window of My Black Front Door
back-lit by The Portico Light
— I know It’s snow, really —
but on close inspection
I see Little Threads
of maybe cat hair
individually straight
or wavy
String
Theory
Joanna Gilman Hyde 