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 Hawk Queen Bed 9:18am
I am in A Black Mood
but there is Power in My Madness
for I can wield The Hand
of Time
I can carry out My Wish
of no sickness within the scope
of My Reality
I can make Black Magic
into Child’s Play
and conduct The Truth
through My Fingers
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 Tomato-coloured Couch 5:55pm
He & I are Black Jesus
crawling out of The Depths
of filth & squalor
out of Lies & Untruths
clawing Our Way Out
of The World Today, Tonight
into The Sublime
of misunderstood Union
The Tomato-coloured Couch 3:56pm
I am The Little Girl —
stomach stuffed with Dipped Digestives
& Ginger Snaps
–
I am The Filthy Crow —
crazed & caged above A Cathedral-ceilinged
Living Room
–
I am The Entity Within —
pulsating to life
alerting My Gut, & so Me
to the impossibility
of Reconciliation
December 8, 2013 The Hawk West Desk Window 10:30pm
My First Summer With My First Husband
We Built a 10′ x 15′ Post-and-Beam House
The Thoreau House
On McNutt Island
Our First Night
We Shone an Oil Lamp
From Its Southern Window
and Went Outside To Look
The Hawk West Desk Window 10:44pm
The First Dying Rose
Taken From Eliza’s Bedroom Bouquet —
petals too limp to dry —
Its Russet Pink Still Enthralling —
Stands Upright In My Bathroom
waste basket
The Hawk Kitchen 4:50pm
This Evening I See
The Blush Of A New Day
To The North —
To The East A Front
Of Cloud
Is Moving Off
Out Over The Ocean
While My Stance
At My Sliding Glass Door
Ushers In
The Hope Of A Vacant Sky
To The West
The Hawk West Desk Window 1:22pm
He can’t feed Himself
anymore
The Nurses have to spoon-feed
His Soft-food Diet
and water or apple juice
with a thickening agent
and change His Diaper
The Doctor says:
“There’s nothing We can do now
but make Him
comfortable”
The Tomato-coloured Couch 9:22pm
Tonight I stood before
that incorrect microwave clock
to watch it turn from 10:20
to 10:22
& saw My Reflection
with hands clasped
in that deceitful pose
photographed on A Child’s Christmas Morning
when I stood before
a brand new blond dolly
I didn’t like
Joanna Gilman Hyde 