Saturday, January 20, 2018

Scattered (Day 367)

scattered like pebbles 
we don’t see
each other often 
which translates to: 
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 
mouth awry
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 
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)

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

(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:

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

Serengeti Love Song (Day 357)

Girraffes can be
terribly romantic, 
intimate with 
the nuances of love. 
Until I met you,
eyelashes melting 
in the sub-Saharan rain,
I lived for years  
doubting whether 
this was true.
Yet there you were,
velvet nose
buried in sweet acacia,
ossicones gold with pollen,
the mighty thrumming
of your powerful heart 
like a distant drum,
luring me.
I longed to nuzzle 
your pale neck, 
to count the hot brown 
patches strewn across 
your hide, and sighed,
But at this humble sound, 
your ears pricked up, 
your brown eyes softened, 
and time seemed
to trip and stumble. 
Later—with the taste
of your hot urine mingling 
with rain upon my 
bruise-tinged tongue—
we wondered at a love 
so vast that it could 
barely be contained within 
the rippling boundaries of 
our sweeping Serengeti Plain.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: 12019/Pixabay

Tuesday, January 9, 2018

Feels Like May [Day 356]

Deep in February’s chill
it feels like May might never bloom,
but even in the darkest room,
light lingers longer every day,
and bitter winter cannot stay
forever, tempt it as you will.

Soon spiders, with their silver strands,
will spin new homes with certain flair,
And house-finch songs will float on air 
Above the lilting mockingbird,
And spring, more now than a mere word,
Will enchant the lifeless land.

Meanwhile, resist the icy slope—
Don’t let despair obscure bright hope.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: pixundfertig/Pixabay

Monday, January 8, 2018

Responsibility (Day 355)

Did you say yes, 
that day? 
Or did you say no?
Did you guess? 
Or did you go under-
ground, where, 
in the dark, you sought 
an answer from among 
yesterday’s ill-begotten 
Then again, perhaps
you simply looked 
the other way?

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: gladatony/Pixabay

Sunday, January 7, 2018

Imagine the elephant’s mouth (Day 354)

Ladies, the surest 
way to a man’s 
heart is through 
a musical. 

I need you to 
tail the bad guys 
while I 
ride on ahead.  

Absurdly amusing, 
how she used 
the pinking shears

A number of 
details in 
the Lincoln Tunnel 
speak to me 
of love.

the elephant’s mouth
smelling heavily 
of cloves.

Pull over here
for a moment, dear,
won’t you?

(c) 2018 by Hannah Six

Image: Schuetz-Mediendesign/Pixabay

Saturday, January 6, 2018

Reclaimed (Day 353)

Reclaimed by the wind
this hot air, knocked down
hard hand in mine, 
lifeless rain leaks from 
the clouds, faceless seconds 
trickling down 
the slopes of a slow hour,
snowcaps slipping into the sea,
descending the ladder of souls,
while fertile land grows arid
in our climbing sun’s vice-like grip.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: 12019/Pixabay

Friday, January 5, 2018

Upriver (Day 352)

They say fondness 
makes the heart 
grow absent.
Well, you’re miles away 
in a driving rain,   
telling me you’re sorry 
from the middle 
of a desert, 
under a flotilla 
of amethyst clouds.
Never again will I let on 
that I love you—
you never believed me
when I said it out loud.
You built your dam upriver 
from my valley, and 
that water’s not going 
to trickle down again.
The shadows grow longer 
even earlier now, and 
we’ll never be as green 
as we were back then.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six
Image: Skeeze via Pixabay

Thursday, January 4, 2018

Blue (Day 351)

blew through me
I knew the underside
of a frozen stream 
seeping through the sky
where its seams were 
still unfinished
I knew the rhythm 
of your blood 
inside the landscape 
of your veins
a pattern barely realized
yet recognizing my disguise
left you somehow

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Mt Rainier at Sunset, NOAA Library