The Hawk Deck 7:30pm
Nothing will unhinge My Happiness
here —
no dying or dead parents
no deranged brother
no cloak of depression
only My Black Cat Astro
— if He were to die
I would be heart-broken:
My Happiness mauled to pieces
The Hawk West Desk Window 8:11pm
I am the eleven-year-old school girl
trudging up Mountainview Avenue
deliberately crossing through woods
in front of My House
rather than take the paved drive way
–
I am a Tower of Poetic License
I write My Life as It comes to Me
in grades of Sterling Silver
in shades of reconciliation
between black & white
I am Alive
& I know it
even in My Seep
The Tomato-coloured Couch 7:50pm
My Body is My Universe
have I said this somewhere else —
outside of My Self?
My Body is all I know
for sure
of My Existence
exposed & exposing
galactic patterns on My Limbs
My Torso
My Intelligent Cells
work wonders of upkeep
circulating
even when I sleep
The Hawk Portico 4:08pm
How many dead souls
can be attached to one
Butterfly?
No one near to Me has died
recently
yet there before My Stoop
flitted One for the taking
like The Birds
Who go unadorned
with such heraldry
The Hawk Portico 2:15pm
It’s My Job
to write about The Sinuosity
of My Neighbour’s Flag
momentarily out straight
It undulates in what wind
We have —
hypnotic in Its Red Swaths
Its Red Maple Leaf luffing
indelibly against The Forever
Blue Sea
Yarmouth, NS 8:30pm
I saw that institutional building
in the sunset haze
over Yarmouth Harbour
perhaps for the last time
— Oh how I can taste being entrenched there
“Patient X”
a basket case
“with delusional aspects”
Who wouldn’t eat
for years it seemed
yet turning out of Yarmouth
a pink ray fell upon My Page
Yarmouth, NS 6:10pm
My Daughter is beautiful
even in the ugliest of lights
buying Her Bedding for college
on the dirtiest of floors
— the concrete of Wall Mart —
having to use Her Own Debit Card
because Her Mother brought
a wallet-less purse
The Hawk Portico 6:40pm
The Jays Have The Propensity
To Call Me Away To My Childhood
Raised By A Single Mother
On Top Of A Hilly One Acre
In Woods Of Birdsong
& Blind Man’s Bluff
The Hawk Queen Bed 7:35am
I Hear The Surf Surge Through
My Open Black Window
& One Solitary Fog Horn Echoing
As If It Were Six
Joanna Gilman Hyde 