Thursday, March 21, 2019

Wednesday, March 20, 2019

Travel Tanka (Day 791)

Below, blue snow clouds
Folded paper mountains sigh
Sun glints on silver

We settle back into sleep
Evening arrives twice today 


(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, March 19, 2019

Room between them (Day 790)

Reluctantly early, he 
glanced around the 
room to see 
if anyone had 
noticed he’d arrived.

She had, and
turned away, pale
hand firmly gripping 
the fragile stem 
of her glass. 
There was no
place to hide.

The room between 
them quivered and 
condensed until, unable 
to converse in 
those watery depths, 
everyone grew quiet. 

Are you happy?  
Outside, a bank 
of wildflowers overlooked 
an expanse of 
turquoise sea ablaze 
with sunlight. Have 
you even tried? 

The door latched 
neatly into place 
with a metallic 
click, and wine 
babbled into glass.
Gradually, one voice 
joined another, countering 
the ebbing tide.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: PxHere

Monday, March 18, 2019

Just Stay (Day 789)

Honeylit pond leaf-feathered 

falling music daisy padded lawns 

lingering spring murmuring in 

emerald-paved pavillions palm 

fronds whistling cooled golden 

smiles touched by decades passing 

still before your eyes a eucalyptus 

path beneath vermillion clouds 

and windchimes tuned to those old 

songs see now where you belong 

salt-tinged this birthright sprawled 

beneath your buckling knees a dream 

broad brush-stroked hours inspire 

swathes of fog-veiled tears and 

leaving feels like coming home 

just yesterday this way just stay


(c) 2019, by Hannah Six


Sunday, March 17, 2019

Boy with a stick (Day 788)

He swings 
at a tree, beating 
back the forest 
with a stick

dark eyes 
flashing, battling 
dragons, or, perhaps, 
his father

blow after blow,
the tree endures
what his enemy
could not

until, defeated 
by acceptance, 
he drops his weapon,  
slumps homeward.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: West Woods, Antietam Battlefield

Saturday, March 16, 2019

Spring Tanka (Day 787)

Pollen gilds the breeze

Silently, pink petals fall—

Drifting, candied snow

 

Distant peaks cloaked in pure white

Still lost in dreams of winter


(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Original photo: US BLM

Friday, March 15, 2019

The sharp edge of goodbye (Day 786)

He was not the first 

to leave, nor will he be 

the last, but you 

are past the point 

of caring, of opening 

your door when you hear 

his footsteps on your walk, 

of answering your telephone 

when he is lonely and just 

wants to talk or cry, 

of melting when he shares

his secret smile—the one 

that promises to grant 

your every wish. He may not 

have been the first to leave, 

but you are certain, now, 

are past the point 

of caring, of lingering on 

the sharp edge of goodbye.


(c) 2019, by Hannah Six