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

Saturday, January 13, 2018

Sole Transformation (Day 360)


no longer is this 
our sole transformation
this agonizing feint 
so special so beautiful 
trusting in the lingering 
bands of shadows 
from stands of tulip trees
a story that may not be 
objectified 
best left in its natural state 
without humor 
or self-deprecation 
the vibrant location 
never required 
a single elaboration


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Vincent van Gogh, Farmhouse in Provence, 1888, 
oil on canvas, National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC

Friday, January 12, 2018

Angel (Day 359)

Hands flower heat expands
Mist annoints an oatmeal angel
One poised dewdrop succeeds

Sirens call joy children pout
Suddenly brown petals play

Torn committees flutter
Green shadows tax the humid wind
Nearby frogs are chiding



(c) 2018 by Hannah Six 

Image: pixel2013/Pixabay

Thursday, January 11, 2018

Searching (Day 358)

searching 
   for safe passage
on a map 
of the gray 
   and rainy space 
   in your heart
no clear route 
   between 
   here and there
   just trailing words
dotted where towns were 
with small 
   black 
      holes



(c) 2017, by Hannah Six



Image: Black Sunday dust storm, April 14, 1935 (US NOAA Public Library). You can see some truly incredible photos here: http://www.crh.noaa.gov/oun/?n=blacksunday-maps