The Hawk Deck 8:55am
It’s warming up
to a beautiful day
I Am Ushering In My Life
out on The Deck
I Am Eating My Banana
in a contemplative mode
listening, as always, to North Eastern Surf
dressed in My Robe
of Warm Silver
The Hawk Window Seat 8:40pm
The Sky is half pink
half silver grey
with A Three-quarter Moon
above The Lighthouse
glinting through The Scrub Spruce
to My Bedside
The Hawk West Desk Window August 13, 2013 11:19pm
I no longer think of The Island
as the insular respite I shared each summer
— shared as a pair of stalwarts
as I did with My Mother —
I now think of the broad expanse
of Nova Scotia imperialized
by Its undulating shoreline
to The South
housing Me now
permanently
on an island
off an island
and beyond
The Hawk Deck 9:04am
Jimbo — the only thing that saved You
from Me
was Your homely visage —
the only thing that saved Me from You
was Your saying “Sleep
is going to be an issue
for the rest of Your life”
Well Here I Am
out on My Deck
in The Sun
with A Giant Quartz Crystal Ring
on My Right Middle Finger
sparkling across This Page
as I write with A Silver & Ebony Pen
from Birk’s
I AM GOD
The Hawk Deck 2:05pm
Am I The Fluffy Beige Cat
Lounging On Her Deck
Or Am I The Strutting Grey Gull
Looking For A Hand-out?
2:15pm
Everything Is Magical
I Am In The Realm
Of Magic Realism
9:27pm
The Moon Is Up There
Gold Against The Backdrop
Of Teal Showing Off
The Planet Venus
The Hawk Deck 9:48am
The Waves Are Still
In The Quiet Fog
The Coffee Steeps
I Read My Blog
The Tomato-coloured Couch 4:15pm
Every September after Labour Day
Our Pets
recognized the smell of Rockland County
by lifting Their Noses to the humid air
crossing the Tapanzee Bridge
happy to be coming back
to Their Most Familiar Grounds
overgrown with dried leaves
and neglect —
They couldn’t be aware
of Our Mother’s apprehensions
for a house vacated by summer tenants:
She usually said
“The House isn’t too bad”
but complained about the yard
while I adjusted to sleeping
in the dark dense air
of My School Year Room
The Tomato-coloured Couch 1:00pm
There Was No Little Yellow Bird
In The Scraggly Apple
When I Said My Prayer
Today
But The Waves Were There
The Waves Heard Me
And So My Prayer
Is Answered
The Tomato-coloured Couch 6:11pm
“Our Family deals with Its Dead
in a peculiar way
My Dad is buried under The Pine Tree named Helmuth
— Not My Dad but His Ashes —
We go sometimes & pour beer on Him
because He liked beer
He was in a one-gallon ice cream container
in the trunk of Mom’s Chevy Nova —
before The Pine Tree
My Father, Helmuth Art Putz, was in a beer stein
about a foot and a half tall
That Pine Tree grows exponentially —
Here’s Your Mom, in a golden box —
I was prying It open with a screwdriver —
I wasn’t sure if the ashes were really My Mother —
after We threw My Mom & Granmom into the river
— not Them, Their ashes —
We asked for a sign
all the lilly pads were stagnating
We threw in irises
a blue heron flew overhead
& the lilly pads lifted up”
Joanna Gilman Hyde 