Haiku For The Afternoon
The Hawk Portico 3:38pm
Atop The High Wire
He Preened, My Dearest Blue Jay
Turning Up His Cap
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The Hawk Portico 3:38pm
Atop The High Wire
He Preened, My Dearest Blue Jay
Turning Up His Cap
The Tomato-coloured Couch 8:29pm
The Blue Jay is a sizeable
decorative
bird
picking grubs from the bark moss
of The Scraggly Apple
hopping to the newel posts
on the deck
for Me to have
His Full View
The Hawk Out Post 12:51pm
The Blue Jay
bore out of the bush
to a rock in My Far Yard
then to The Scraggly Apple
— I kept My Eye on Him —
— feeling My Blood —
& He Came to
Me
He Came
The Tomato-coloured Couch 8:10pm
Having Been Awakened
To The Existence
Of God
By A Shower Of Silver Lights
On March 31st, 1993
That Same Year
In October
I Was Told By My Own
Private God
On My Right Shoulder:
“You Know The Meaning Of Life
And So You Are
A Star —
So Go To Sleep”
The Hawk West Desk Window 4:53pm
I parked beside Your Cocaine-coloured Truck
today at Frenchy’s*
I know Your Wife
was inside
going through the bales
picking out clothes
for You to take
to The Dominican Republic
as a cover
*used clothing merchandising chain
The Hawk Laundry Room 5:38pm
Mirror Mirror On The Wall
Who’s The Truest Of Them All?
Is It You —
Or Is It Me —
We’ve Come This Far
What Will It Be?
We’ve Come This Far
What Will We See?
The Hawk Living Room 10:22am
The piece of black clothing
has crept its way into
My Underwear Drawer
furnished by My Daughter
— The Piece — not the drawer —
unopened in a plastic pack of five assorted
Joe Fresh Women’s High-cut Briefs
size small:
My Black Jesus Underpants
The Hawk West Desk Window 9:40pm
The Earth is under A Spell
or am I?
galvanized by not the shock
of 9/11
but by a deep mystery
which may never be abandoned
but from which We must
awaken
The Hawk Kitchen 6:47pm
I See A Bird Of Silver
Against A Cloud Of Grey
It Signals To Me
All Is Well
And This Is How We’ll Stay
The Tomato-coloured Couch 4:11pm
I put on My Raspberry Slippers
& got out The Mop
I mopped & I mopped
upstairs & down
I cleaned My Whole House
& still that 777 has not been
found
Joanna Gilman Hyde