I am casting off My Mother’s Houses
I just opened the cupboard door under the sink
here at The Hawk
to dry My Hands on a non-existent towel there
thinking I was in The Shakespeare House
momentarily
but I’m not — that House
went in September 2011
& I am left with The Island
ready to go at the full asking price
by This Friday —
how many dish towel memories
do I have there?
The Hawk West Desk Window 8:00am
There’s a Picture somewhere
of My Mother’s outboard The Molly
resting at anchor in a pool of faded pink
It must be down in the basement
here at The Hawk
what will I think
when I see It again?
The Hawk Portico 3:00pm
The Waves Today Remind Me
of Children Playing
uneven in Their Tumult
sporadic in Their Breaking
–
Yes, I have read of The Accident
but My Observations
were gathered
beforehand
The Hawk Kitchen 10:38am
A single splash of spray
out My Kitchen Window
evokes a silent prayer
that I may find relief
in The Changing of Hands
of My Mother’s Island Property —
a property I could never see
as My Own —
even if Peak or Eliza
had It — It would still be
My Mother’s
I see a great hull of a cloud
draining an isolated shower
out over The Atlantic
blue-grey into blue-grey
–
I have begun reading
Anne Yarbrough’s Bowl of Light
a beautiful record of Her Time
living on Mc Nutt’s Island —
Eliza says she wants to read it too
I stand in sublimity
observing The November Sun
setting Its Light
against The Panorama of Spruce
out My Back Kitchen Door —
Subtle Clouds are rippled
like beach sand
& The Crows have yet
to finish My Offering
of old Shepherd’s Pie
The Hawk West Desk Window 8:00am
It’s Time I Said Good-Bye
to My Mother
right from where I stand Today
I will not be going out to The Island
with The Alternative Energy Tech —
My Daughter will go in My Stead —
I can rely on Eliza
as My Mother relied on Me —
I will not be going down memory lane
to The Thoreau House in the woods
built by My Mother’s Perfect Son-in-law
I will not be going There —
I will not be sweeping up dead flies
in My Mother’s Island House —
I swept the flies there alone once
when I was 18 — Eliza’s age —
to open The Place for My Mother’s arrival —
Today Eliza will be readying for a prospective buyer
& I will not be walking down to The Lower Orchard
to visit My Mother’s Limestone Squirrel
perched on Her Granite Marker —
Today I Stand in Eliza’s Corner Room upstairs
Here At The Hawk
& gaze upon The Panorama of Sun’s Rays
filtering down on My Atlantic Home
Today I drove past a black cat
the size & shape of Astro
stretched out dead
on the road into Clark’s Harbour
I wondered if He was loved
as much as I love Astro
I wondered if He could have been hit
because of His Blackness
Joanna Gilman Hyde 