Tuesday, September 25, 2018

The pea-green coat (Day 615)

From a doorway, he watches, neither thinking nor without thought, as she moves quietly, unobtrusively, almost invisibly, through a midday crowd, pocketbook clutched in the crook of her left elbow, right hand free to carry the day’s purchases. Hanging limply from her sharp shoulders, the hem of her pea-green coat sways disspiritedly around her knees, covering a dress he knows will be faded, the fabric clean, soap-scented, but fragile from years of washing. She does not look up, never makes eye contact unless speaking directly to a merchant or a rare acquaintance. In an absent-minded motion, reminiscent of the ubiquitous row of rosary-sayers at the churches of his youth, he polishes a blushing apple, turning it over and over, his eyes following the receeding pea-green rectangle until it disappears around a corner. Then, with a sigh, he gently replaces the fruit, and turns toward his next customer.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Monday, September 24, 2018

It was not much (Day 614)

It was not much, but 
it was hours—
the intimate group of friends,
the bouquet of flowers 
   someone pressed 
      into my hands,
the elusive dress, the dinner, 
the rings we could not afford,
   but bought anyway,
that blurred, cloudy day, 
   when the sun broke through, 
and we promised 
   what we believed 
      was possible.
Looking back, the truth 
   is clear:
It was not much, but,
for a fleeting moment,
it was ours.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Sunday, September 23, 2018

News Break (Day 613)

I did
but now 
I don’t

I used to
but I can’t

I still want to
but I won’t

I do my best
(these days: 
 not much)

Which means 
I’m out
of touch

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Men and a woman reading headlines posted 
in street-corner  window of Brockton Enterprise 
newspaper office on Christmas Eve, Brockton, Mass.
Jack Delano/Picryl

Saturday, September 22, 2018

Sunset Tanka (Day 612)

Sublime coral sky
Darkness obscures gentle waves
Voices fall silent

Tasting salt heightens sweetness
Only peacefulness remains

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Friday, September 21, 2018

How Can I Give (Day 611)

How can I give you 
a tree—a fog-enfolded sequoia, 
or a sap-spitting sycamore 
   with dinner-plate leaves—
when you have never swooned 
   over the honeyed scent of freesias, 
   blooming in a sun-drenched courtyard? 
How can I give you 
that courtyard, 
that gathering of nodding, blue-and-yellow 
trumpets, when you have never 
spread your blanket on a patch of ground 
   redolent of hot pine resin 
   and sun-baked dust? 
How can I give to you the unknowable
—the kiss of minnows at your toes?
—the Red Riding Hood flash of a cardinal 
   against bare November woods?
—the soft, secret joy of a heart 
    that would always have been yours? 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Wikimedia Commons

Thursday, September 20, 2018

Lady at the Bar (Day 610)

she finds fault
when she wants what’s not 
there   impossible to grasp
to understand   
and now   watch   
how interesting   the way 
her hand hovers 
for a moment 
too long   before she decides
to withdraw the favor

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, September 19, 2018

Hearing Him (Day 609)

I like hearing him 
   when he isn’t talking 
when I can hear him 
   of new distractions 
   and glistening 
to lure our attention 
   far from the drama 
   we all crave
I like listening 
   to the wheels 
   as they turn, slowly, 
methodically grinding out 
the ineffable nonsense
  of the day. 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image from photo provided by US DoD