Saturday, April 21, 2018

One long ‘Thank you’ (Day 458)

True love is really
one long 
      Thank you
it is giving up 
   your ego
           your rights
             your pride
and opening to 
   imagination
         vulnerability
         comfort
—a 10-year-old child 
sitting on a curb
conversing with 
a pale yellow dog
   befuddled
      devoted
         exposed



(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: “If Nick Nolte were a dog...” 
by Christopher Michel via Wikimedia Commons


Friday, April 20, 2018

Cherry Trees (Day 457)

Earth sways  cavorts  
shakes loose from leafless 
cherry trees  a dozen brilliant 
blossoms  bouncing  nestling  
finally resting on deep green 
velvet ground  among a crowd 
of bluebells  bowing  nodding 
to the lingering day


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Thursday, April 19, 2018

Like Shackles (Day 456)

Backing out of our considered 
indifference, like shackles 
increasing gelatinous fear, 
adrenaline clouds 
falling into place beneath 
a fanned-out inversion 
of raised hackles. 
What we observed 
made no sense, 
so we only took notes 
in our little books. 
What we noted made us 
howl and surge. 
Five storms descended 
and we preserved the fallen 
behind chemically-etched glass 
sheets for later observation, 
in case anyone should ask, 
in case anyone should remember.



(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

Today Our Traitors... (Day 455)


today our traitors 
  confessed
and began to pack  eager 
  to do nothing 
  good  different  worrisome
they took virtually 
everything 
  they wanted
  their friends wanted  
spoke fickle praise  dramatically 
while the flames they fanned 
consumed 
  their illicit affairs 
all evidence disintegrated  
and now they are allowed
to leave  
  their names  their strict honor 
  intact  
to leave 
  this place  
  less improved than broken 


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

The Empty Beach (Day 454)

You could sling a stone from the ranch 
and it would land in the sea, plunking,
tumbling to the bottom: a submarine 
garden of undulating anemones, 
slumbering in the sway 
of the afternoon tide,
where swift-gliding fish 
flashed silver in shafts of sunshine 
or in sweeping beams 
from the lighthouse late at night

You could sling a stone from the ranch 
and hit the sea—it was that close—
but why would we have 
done such a thing, when we could 
clamber down the cliffs, run 
the length of the empty beach, 
hide in the flat-bottomed cave, 
only to wander home hours later, 
taking pocketsful of fossilized mollusks, 
in exchange for the echoes of our voices, 
and two trails of fugitive footprints.



(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Wendy Seltzer/Wikimedia Commons

Monday, April 16, 2018

Revolving Door (Day 453)


She craves 
the tonic of truth,
the flavor of 
cold canteloupe 
honey-sweet and 
slippery  sliced thin as 
mountain morning air 
She yearned 
to wander through 
the labyrinth of language  
to spin in and out 
of the revolving door 
between 
the Summer of Love’s
fizzing orange 
and unripe green 
and the cobalt blue
Reagan era’s satin  sequins 
and cheap gold plate 


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Wikimedia Commons

Sunday, April 15, 2018

Summer of lapsed attention (Day 452)

She cannot undo her summer 
of lapsed attention in exotic 
lands  sledding downhill and
drinking sparkling lime tinged
with juniper  a miraculous 
invisible line of “but” “yet” and 
“though” traces a path from 
forehead to willing heart  
without doubt  without abandon  
mingling with the bitter things 
that make her mouth hard 
to know  the slow travel of 
an ordinary life among the humid 
evening hours  She proceeds 
to talk strikingly about the shame 
of being unfathomable  suspended
on ribbons of blue smoke between 
her previous life and the next



(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Cyprus (public domain)