Notes from an art school project, titled “Guts” circa 1983
Oesophagus, Stomach — flesh-coloured satin
Pancreas — textured yellow
Gallbladder — green
Liver — purple satin
Small Intestine — 20 feet white tubular satin, stuffed
Large Intestine, Rectum — flesh-coloured satin, gathered
Heart — heart-shaped red velvet pillow, white feather-trimmed
suspended above
October 11, 2013 The Hawk Queen Bed 10:50pm
I took off My Purple Sweater
& laid It in the laundry basket
nestled around My Big Black Cat Astro
I saw The Colour Purple
next to My Cat’s Blackness
& saw My Giant Satin Lips again
that Monument To Sex I sewed & stuffed
for a Cooper Union sculpture class —
body-length zippered pillows I presented
dressed in Black, I kicked off My High heels
butted out a cigarette
unzipped My Fierce Creation
& climbed in
sunk unseen down inside The Fuchsia Lips
zipped back up
The Tomato-coloured Couch 9:30pm
When I was a student at Cooper Union
I tried to have an affair
with The President
He gave no response to My Stream of hand-delivered letters
but once gave Me a small kiss
as I stepped on His Foot
After I graduated
I gave Him a pair of hand-knitted socks
for His Cold Feet
By the time His Presidency was nearly over
I was on My way to Nova Scotia
to get properly married
I went to His Office
one last time
He said, “I still have Those Socks –”
I said, “Now You don’t need Them –”
“Why?”
“Because Now It’s Spring!”
The Tomato-coloured Couch 1:11pm
I live with A Demon
of My Own Creation
caged above Me
in My Living Room
He is black & dirty
with giant bird shit
dripping off the upper right corner
of His Chicken Wire Cage
first laid across Him
on the 4th Floor
of Cooper Union’s Foundation Building
where He came to Life
never to speak — only to glare
with His Brilliant Eyes
down upon His Audience —
Yet Today He Speaks!
Through Me as I speak out
for The Creature of My Fierce Fear —
My Fear of being locked in
or up
or out
as I have been locked inside
psychiatric wards
for years on end
I am OUT NOW
& I can speak My Mind
no matter how It comes out
I AM BLACK JESUS — but
not because I am dressed in black
I AM BLACK JESUS — because
I can speak
for My Desperate Crow — d
The West Desk Window NOON
I am naked as I write
just out of The Shower
after rowing 2,234 metres
on My Concept 2 Rower
— My Very Own C2 —
to write that I am thinking
of You
The http://www.livestream.com/occupynyc People
bundled in Your Coats & Blankets
against the odds
(though My Last Check Written
to Cooper was all evens)
I see You on Your Live Streaming
& offer My Support
from My Home
here on The Hawk
if there’s anything I could do for you —
now I’ll get dressed
Joanna Hyde Art ’83
The Hawk Red Deck Chair 12:15pm
Oh My God! — That’s My Mother
Telling Me To Write This Poem
— It’s The Chickadees
flitting around The Scraggly Apple
telling Me to write down
what I did one Christmas
in Cooper Union —
I asked My Unmarried Economics Teacher
to be a Christmas Present
for My Mother
& He said Yes!
so I wrote Mom a note
for Christmas Morning
that a Man was coming to visit
He came to Christmas Dinner
in Valley Cottage
— My Grandfather was there too —
now Pappy, The Teacher, My Mother, My Brother
are all dead
but The Chickadee-dee-dees
are alive
& chirping
The Hawk Deck 6:42pm
What is It that makes A Poem?
Is It the induction of waves
louder now than usual —
or is It a lost conversation
with a Siamese cat named Moulan
(Who seemed to be listening too)
or is It a reminder
when eating canned peaches
that I made a giant sculpture once
“Peaches & Blades”
going floor to ceiling
filling the lobby of Cooper Union’s 4th floor?
Is this A Poem?
Joanna Gilman Hyde 