The Hawk Deck NOON
The Grey-robed Figure
spirited out of bed at 11:00
takes Her Tea out to The Deck
assesses Her Timing
of This Morning’s Flirtation
with Depression
marked by Her Son’s Imminent Departure
for which She is cancelling
The Last Supper
The Hawk Queen Bed 9:40pm
I hear The Waves
My Backdrop to The Peepers
with My Husband’s Warm Hand
across My Left Arm
I am in My Cradle
My Bassinet
I will lie here
until
I die
The Hawk Dining Room 12:50pm
He’s out there write now
pecking around the stone wall
dividing our property from the neighbours’
He’s a Northern Flicker
with a brilliant red crest
on the back of His Head
black bib under His Chin
(if birds have chins)
tabby striping on His Back
& buff with black spots underneath
He’s been here since I first spotted Him
at the other stone wall along the drive
— He seems to find stuff
among the rocks
with His Long Beak — He’s a Woodpecker
Colaptes Auratus
Oh, He just pooped!
Note: He’s a She – minus a back “moustache”
The Tomato-coloured Couch 8:25pm
In The Mid-nineties
I lay in bed for weeks
unbathed
wanting to die
not caring for my family
— why write it here —
here where I am happy & satisfied?
because I am in a lull
& I don’t have My Two-year-old Daughter
tearing covers off Me
insisting, “Mom — get up —
Yer Starvin'”
The Hawk Kitchen 5:45pm
OK, I’ve had it
with this star-quality house dust
blanketing every dark surface
in My Maid-free Home —
I see The Night Sky
on My Kitchen Radio
shaped like an alien’s head
& crumbs of cat treats
in the Milky Way
of My New Kitchen Floor
The Hawk Basement NOON
The Glittering Oyster
Open-shelled
Is what We Delve Into
When We Die
With All Minds
Before
&
Ahead
Of Our
Selves
The Hawk Kitchen 5:57pm
I am in self-imposed Lock-down
in My Own Kitchen
listening to peepers
to The West
and The Ocean —
can I go outside
to hear It?
I hear only those tiny frogs
which provide Me
with such joy
The Hawk Kitchen 7:34am
When I Drink My Water
I Am Drinking The Sky
When I Eat My Fruit
I Am Eating Primordial Earth
When I Smell My Coffee
I Am At Home
When I Am Awake
So Too Is The World
The Tomato-coloured Couch 7:35pm
In One of My Countless Psychiatric Interviews
I was Once Asked The Question:
“What does the saying
Don’t Cry Over Spilled Milk
mean?”
I rose from My Chair
to find My Self Exclaiming
“Accidents Are A Necessity”
“Accidents Are A Necessity”
“Accidents Are A Necessity”
until The Psychiatrist
Doctor Appavoo
(I called Him Doctor Apple Voodoo)
had to shut Me up
Joanna Gilman Hyde 