Saturday, January 20, 2018

Scattered (Day 367)


scattered like pebbles 
we don’t see
each other often 
enough
which translates to: 
you 
at your window 
watching a stream 
of stoop-shouldered 
students trickle 
along the sun-cracked 
sidewalk to and from 
the community 
college up the road
you like to say
we all have our own
lives but this
is not the one
I would have chosen 
for you

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Friday, January 19, 2018

Almost Always True (Day 366)

The only things are bitter 
words and politics and cold 
blue sky aching tired and 
purring under a warm river of 
chocolate and chamber music 
reading and resting warmly 
wrapped in the things we used 
to love how they lifted and 
lightened our troubles until 
they merely floated away like 
feverish dreams and poetry 
winter and absinthe inspire 
and so that’s all I able to give 
to you but at least you knew
it was always almost true 



(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Advertising poster for "Absinthe Rosinette",
 published by Imprimerie Camis, Paris, circa 1900; 
via Wikimedia Commons

Thursday, January 18, 2018

Distress (Day 365)

I did not think 
we’d come
to this
I did not think 
we’d last 
so long
as a first kiss or 
a sparrow’s song



(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image via Pexels

Wednesday, January 17, 2018

Silken Grip (Day 364)



When the hand lets go   the fingers 
continue to meet   forming an O of 
conspiratorial approval   a manual 
wink   and the glass tumbles to 
the carpet   the clink of ice and 
slice of lime giving voice to 
otherwise-silent sin    the street 
outside fizzes with traffic and 
surely-fascinating conversation   
if only she could hear more clearly   
and she strains her ears to make out 
the words   When the mind lets go   
thoughts continue to seep out onto 
the page   into a world embraced by 
the jumble of thrice-used plastic 
bags favored by the divorced woman
d'un certain ├óge who abstains from 
the silken grips of costly leather 
satchels   and the need to sustain her 
well-heeled husband’s grim-lipped 
approval   for the freedom to let go



(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Kelly bag
Wen-Cheng Liu/Wikimedia Commons

Tuesday, January 16, 2018

Longed for (Day 363)



night imploded 
into sleek weeks 

of longed-for lethargy 
a million stars became 

months of quiet musings 
yet in the end it was not 

my lover blackberry-ripe 
with unnewsworthy stories 

who constrained my heart 
it was my friend




(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Monday, January 15, 2018

Naughty Child (Day 362)


Lingering over a clasp 
deciding wagging 
side-to-siding 
mouth awry
naughty-child-nearly-caught 
eyes twinkling 
in their nest 
of pale-mapped wrinkles 
fistlike clenched  
soapy and slick words 
slide from your lips  
puddling silken 
at your feet 
a pool of shame 
to your dismay 
they all look markedly 
away without a single smile


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: joon2079/Pixabay

Sunday, January 14, 2018

The Unthinkable (Day 361)


How do you find 
language to describe 
what no longer exists?
Is it a vacuum?
An absence? A lack?
How will you
explain what it was like 
when morning came 
and you found yourself
unable to pronounce
the title with
<his name>?
Unable to link words,
one by one, into 
a chain strong enough 
to safely convey 
the unthinkable?
What is it like for you
to imagine that 
dwindling time 
when the acknowledged
remained unimaginable? 
When dead-eyed, vapid,
and vacant were animated, 
instead, by mercy, 
intelligence, and humanity? 
Will you help them, 
one day, understand 
how we allowed our 
pure freedom
to be smeared and sullied
by the sticky fingers 
of unheeded warnings?


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: djacoby/Pixabay