Thursday, July 20, 2017

Puddle (Day 183)

Lift up 
a corner of 
that puddle 
right there 
and tell me 
what you see

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Torbakhopper

Wednesday, July 19, 2017

Can We Fight (Day 182)

How, how can we fight 
against figments of 
the night, creations 
of a disturbed lack 
of imagination—
every direction a knife, 
a noose, a fiery pit?
How can we live, 
banging up against 
thick-swarming lies, 
when everywhere, 
the buzzing, biting 
flies struggle to believe 
him moreAlmost 
imperceptiblythe door 
is closing, and we
we with our buckets and 
green garden hoses, are 
fighting a storming sun.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Gorgeous image of a 7/14/17 solar flare and coronal mass ejection: NASA (more here)

Tuesday, July 18, 2017

A Current Stirs (Day 181)

Sinuous eels flutter.
A current stirs, 
their solemn eyes peer.
Slim darting fish meld 
like sequins with sunlight, 
flashing through 
the dimpled swells.
Bemused, they swarm 
—angels swooping
toward vengeance, 
astonishing and fast.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Detail of painting by Raphael (public domain)

Monday, July 17, 2017

The Key (Day 180)

The key: Poverty destroys 
sirens, rejects the fluttering,
alluring solutions that 
gyrate, sometimes tediously,
among the more voracious 
fishes in the great freshwater 
aquarium of problem solvers. 
It clips the wings of simple 
answers and do-gooders, and 
blasts Babylonian policymakers
with the furnace breath of
ten thousand dragons, until,
trembling bodaciously, they 
slip backward into plentitude
wash the dirt from their hands,
and heave the sanctimonious 
sighs of martyrs and lesser saints.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Amartya Mandal

Sunday, July 16, 2017

Abuelita, June 2017 (Day 179)

We crossed the border in
a rusted Falcon, on a wheel 
that was starting to go flat. 

A fountain of dust spouted 
behind us, tinting the sky  
terra-cotta where the sun shone,

Powdering our car, skin, food 
with an ancient, ubiquitous grit,
metallic on our tongues, like blood.

Whenever we passed another 
car, truck, any sign of civilization, 
she ducked and covered herself. 

Before the stark mountains, a plain, 
monotony interrupted here and there 
by run-down, sun-broken signs. 

We drove through darkness, wide 
open to the desert air, vibrating
under a million spinning galaxies.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Rennett Stowe

Saturday, July 15, 2017

He Will Take It (Day 178)

You smile and then 
you sulk and then 
you are hungry and then
you resent me and then 

your mood swings 
wild and I 
try to manage this 
and worry 
and think
yes actually it is 
your fault 
i have too much 
right now

now here i am 
in fucking bed again
and what should 
i have been doing
taking care of myself?

and the shame 
i feel is pitch black dark
deep black so 
no one else will see it
then he will take it
then he will lay it out 
on me and
no one else will see it

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Two Lassa With Doctors, 
US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC)

Friday, July 14, 2017

Let Them Eat Cake (Day 177)

Subtly, they slice and serve
Each morsel on a china plate,
Never more than they 
               think we deserve.
So disdainful of us,
               yet they’re sealing our fate.

A few voted them in, 
               we all fund their pay—
In most cases a dire mistake.
Now they collect our money 
               and say:
“Our constituents? Let them eat cake!”

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Cake at Madonna Inn (CA), by Daderot