The Hawk Dining Room 7:35pm
Black & White Swampie
Sphygmomanometer Bound
Curls Cat Over Cuff
The Hawk Queen Bed 9:44pm
I have written words
I have painted pictures
I have never sung a song
Has there been enough
of Me?
When will The World stop
to assess My Persona
d’Artiste Extraordinaire
Who has yet to live
to Her Fullest Capacity
under the guise
of —
nothing
The Tomato-coloured Couch 7:30pm
There’s enough white
pick-up trucks
to go around
to everyone
like Me
Who doesn’t make a wish
but feels
security
in the white
mobility
of man-made
design
The Tomato-coloured Couch 5:00pm
I Am Black Jesus
I Am Red, Yellow, Brown, White
Purple Is The Colour
Of My Massive Heart
My Hair Is A Rainbow
I Wear No Clothes
But Unlike The Emperor
I Know That I Am
Naked
The Hawk Queen Bed 10:22pm
I Am The Black Ball
nesting under
Yards & Yards of White Satin
lined with feather boa
for an art school project
thirty-two years ago
–
I Am The Black Pearl
making People feel uncomfortable
like The Grit
inside an orgasmic oyster
lined with Phosphorescence
–
I Am The Black Jesus
in a White World of Innocence
here to make People understand
Their True Beginnings
of Sperm & Egg
& how They, We, have arrived
at Our Present Global Form
–
I Am The Blanket Of Night
with The Moon Glowing
underneath
echoing The Face of Humanity
for All of Us
to see Our Selves
with Newly Opened Eyes
The Tomato-coloured Couch 7:45pm
We have one remaining black & white tuxedo cat
Who came from the wrong side of the tracks
scooped up one rainy night
as a case of mistaken identity
by My Son (Who thought He had Mumbo)
& was brought to Our Doom (typo I should keep)
in Shelburne
She, Swamp, with the dishevelled tail
She holds so high
now resides
in Our Hawk Dining Room
sitting up on The Marble-topped Table
amidst tarnished silver candle sticks —
She favours gazing out
The Big Arched Window
to The Sea
& taking Her Meals
alone
The Hawk En-suit Bathroom 1:22pm
Eye-level to Me
as I stand before
My Bathroom Window
is The Full Curve
of The Hawk Beach
and to The East
The Full Ocean —
looking down upon
My Yard
I see My Carved-out Drive
full of snow
and The Occasional Crow
flying by
Joanna Gilman Hyde 