Pubnico, NS 10:22am
I am driving Home
A New Message
there — I see that tree I remember
I climbed It as a little kid
& now It is The Mighty Oak
Out There I See The Ocean
with tidal flats before
I hear The Waves
high under The Full Moon
pushing Me onward
to The Self
I think I know
so well
The Tomato-coloured Couch 5:00pm
I Am Waiting
For The Impregnation
Of My Idea
For My Concept
To Be Opened Up
Sunk Into
& Savoured
For All Its Worth
The Hawk Deck 3:00pm
What Is In My World?
My Devoted Husband, soon-to-be-retired
My Darling Daughter, still up in the air
as far as school goes
My Children’s Grandfather languishing
in the little local hospital
under the care of Dr David H. Wilson
and so the perpetual ocean waves
draw Me in
The Tomato-coloured Couch 5:30pm
I Have Been Sent
By My Spirit
To This Time
This Place
For The Acquisition
Of A Proper
Life
Of Heady Happiness
Deep Mourning
& The Exclamation
Of Perfection
In All Things
The Tomato-coloured Couch 4:00pm
I stand in a shaft of sun
drinking from My Silver-frosted
Chalice of Life
I stop to look
at just what I am
consuming
I see The Earth
The Potency of Life
quivering
in My Well-oiled
Grip
The Hawk Deck 12:22pm
When I Drink Water
From My Chalice Of Life
I See The Bottom
Of My Glass
As A Fertilized Egg
Cradled
By My Little Finger
The Hawk Kitchen 9:30pm
I see A Universe
lurking in the bottom
of My Dirty Broiler Pan
–
Before I pour the steak juice
down the sink
let Me tell You what I see:
–
I see Suns, many many Suns
made from fat globules
some closer, some farther
in a wash of reddish
nebulae
in the upper left-hand corner
— the right side
holds residual stars
too numerous
to count
& soon to dissolve
in dish soap
& even after cleaning
The Pan Itself
reveals an infinite
dusting
of white matter
baked in
Its enamel
The Hawk West Desk Window 8:50
My Humanity
is most most (sic) precious
possession
— I may get shot
for holding on to My
SELF
at the expense
of God —
God can fry
But Not I
The Hawk Deck 1:15pm
I Hear My Private World
squawking with an unidentified bird
atop the scraggly apple
waves resounding
just beyond the scrub spruce
the hedge is here, fluttering
with My Laundry on the line
& cats coming & going
from the shaded back deck
Joanna Gilman Hyde 