Of Your Company (Poem 181)

This pear-shaped desire, breathless

Swaggering courtship, 

This request, spoken soft and heavy, 

Tucked dearly into a fluted paper cup, 

Sanguine swirl of sugar icing, pristine 

As lavender snow, the pleasure

Of your incomparable company

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Plum Leaf (Poem 180)

halfway through 

a broken day 

a plum leaf 

swimming 

on the breeze 

brushes 

my piscine cheek 

and pauses 

a moment 

a brief encouraging 

green moment 

then floats off 

a butterfly tumbling 

merrily singing 

of soapy mornings 

and lingering 

whole-note afternoons 

my memory swipes 

at the song 

but its notes slip

through the loosely 

knotted net leaving 

only an imprint 

of a melody

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Damascene (Poem 179)

When the wind is bitter

his eyes tear and his nose 

runs. In bed at night, 

his wife's feet are cold 

against his warm calves, 

but he doesn't mind.

In the morning, they linger

before beginning another day 

of meetings at the office, 

of slicing apples, 

of changing the sheets, 

and flossing of teeth. 

His daughter's small hand

in his is hot and gritty 

with dirt (she has been digging

in "her garden" again). 

It melts his heart and makes

him ache with love for her.

After sunset, his wife 

switches on his reading lamp,

and climbs the stairs. He closes

his eyes and listens

to the vague murmur of her

voice as she tells 

a bedtime story. 

In memory of the men, women, and children who lost their lives in Damascus, Syria, in August 2013. 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Whiplash (Poem 178)

Hello, Pacific Northwest,*

Look, your clouds

Are all about! 

Don't let summer 

Give you whiplash 

On her F1-style way out.

What, you never noticed

When Winter turned to Spring?

That's because the difference

Didn't mean a blasted thing.

And Fall? Forget it! It's a game

That other regions play--

They're not for you, 

those vivid months,

Your Fall's counted in days.

Yes, for six bright weeks

Your toes were warm,

Your windows open wide.

But August's gone,

And Winter's long,

So find a place to hide.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Typical sunny day in WA State

*Lest I get hate mail from lovers of cold, dark, and damp, let me assure you this was written purely tongue-in-cheek.

Tell (Poem 177)

I can't tell 

if it's you and me

or just you.

What it is 

that causes you 

to curl in on yourself

like a snail, small 

and mud-colored,

huddling against

the dangers of this

world, deep 

inside your shell?

Is it the wind whipping

the apple tree's branches

against the window

that frightens you?

Or the apples themselves,

laying uneaten and 

mouldering on the grass

below our window?

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

End of Day (Poem 176)

underwater end 

of slippery day 

feel the way up darkened 

stairs where ghosts 

of palm trees sway 

and drink 

cocktails from coconut shells 

see-through plastic monkeys 

swinging from the rims 

behold the golden end

the ebb and flow of light 

painting the world a dream 

how pink the clouds are 

looming like mountains

underwater 

slipping sleepy 

hazy mind 

sleazy time hanging

like a wrinkled garment from 

the day's bony shoulders

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Sleepless (Poem 175)

one-twenty-five    two o'clock even 

though it's cool and even though 

I'm warm   fuzzy anticipation 

of fuzzy thinking 

like drinking red wine 

on a hot dry afternoon    aching 

for tomorrow's ache 

the kind sleepless nights make 

marble statues of us all    

around three get up 

and fake it trying to ignore 

the gray seeping in around the edges 

of the midnight curtain 

empty bottle mind like blowing 

on a dandelion and wishing 

a cloud would cover the moon 

so   in this room   the sponginess 

of the bed and my head give nothing 
away when daylight 

comes too 

soon   too soon

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

A Couple (Poem 174)

and looking up 

I see them across 

the café at a corner 

table    she her head in 

her hands    he stricken 

motionless

looking at me    

an intruder having 

blundered my way into 

this moment    ashamed 

at their indecency

I look elsewhere and try 

to close the door 

against swells of 

despair surging through the 

rich scented air    cinnamon 

rolls fresh from the oven hot 

coffee steamed milk

but    eyes drawn 

as if to a strange insect 

I find they have 

not moved 

nor do they 

until    some while later

having drained my cup I 

look up to find they 

are gone

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Last Rays (173)

Steel clouds split open

Catching the last rays of sun

Their dreams slowly fading

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Rainbow forming, from Puget Sound

Base (Poem 172)

where the heart is

base

safe

sweet home

run

insurance

room

away from home

town

improvement

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Would You Be (Poem 171)

Who would 

     you be 

     if you refused  

     to hide your 

     gray?

What would 

     people 

     say if your lips 

     remained unplumped, 

     lip-colored?

If you were not 

     anointed

  with jasmine 

     or tangerine

        or a few drops 

from an aquamarine bottle of 

custom-designed chemicals?

If your teeth 

     were not white 

     as brand new 

     athletic socks, 

your brow smooth 

as a newly-paved road

   would you still be 

        loved? 

After all,

(be)loved, who 

are you

to judge? 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Asleep (Poem 170)

Asleep at the wheel

of fortune I sing

songs of three a.m.

when you wake 

up heart pounding

sure that the

sound is echoing

down the hall

where photos hang

in tarnished frames

then settle

back with a sigh

relief and abandon 

yourself again 

to the whims

of your dreams

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

So sweet (Poem 169)

Tell me

About tomorrow

Morning

Tender

As newly hatched birds

Or Spring

So sweet

I can dream on it

All night

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Today (Poem 168)

Today the sky broke

Open wide and poured down

Liquid streams if light.

Today the grass grew thick

And blue, its secrets kept

Where the violets grew.

Today the river flowed 

Uphill and splintered into

Shards of ice.

Today the afternoon was

Slow and softly blooming

Into night.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Still the Ruffled Wing (Poem 167)

still the ruffled wing

silk scarf of wind slips

through itself   unknotting

let gray the fallen sycamore

let loose the black-bright bursts 

of vines that advertise 

their own demise   honey sweet 

the sun's haze strung 

like fairy lights with midge and gnat

suspended in a shaft    and settle 

the butterfly leaves.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Cloud Song (Poem 166)

Sunday morning cloud song bitter

wake up in my cup    solitary radio

knitting stories in would be sun 

if I were home    sometimes 

blending dinner with alone is 

a choice one must make    voice 

opinions so outside knows 

heart's desire is 

not fireplace crystal goblet clear 

nor Sinatra smooth   who want 

need only woolly words and long

true afternoons painted blue 

and green and gold on 

paper smooth as waterlilies

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Parrot (Poem 165)

Lime-green parrot 

Sings Puccini

Face painted with surprise

Cold, hard eyes search 

A ghost-jungle 

He cannot know

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Circling (Poem 164)

Below me, they

are circling

mouths open

teeth

glinting 

in the watery light

A blunt nose

bumps my shin

then he is

turning and

re turning

Eyes dark, dilated

Bodies twitching, attuned

to every movement

The water is

warm enough   I stir 

it with my finger

Finally, aching, I bend

and place two bowls

on the kitchen floor  then

I make my way upstairs 

Where I know they   

sated   sedated 

by Chicken & Tuna

will soon be   ready 

to circle me   again   

and sleep

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Choose (Poem 163)

You, with the complicated eyes, 

hiding in a sweater three sizes 

too big, come out and play. 

Learn how to say: Yes! 

I want   to, 

and: No. 

I'd rather   not.

Dive into your life--

the water is fresh and clear

apples are tart and crisp 

and the wind roars 

like an arctic train on a 

Pacific cliff-top in December

making your blood rush

helter-skelter through your veins.

This world is yours:

Come out and play.

Learn to say: Yes! 

I choose   this 

and: No. 

I don't choose   that. 

Learn to stand up and believe in 

what you believe--and say 

so, even when 

they don't want 

to hear. You'll be okay.

Want 

to play, want 

to work, 

to stay inside or 

slip out, maybe. It's okay 

to soak in a steaming bath 

at three o'clock 

in the morning 

     it's okay to choose 

     it's okay to want to 

okay to not want to. 

This    is yours, 

this     is the prize 

for being (re)born into this 

world where 

you 

alone 

get to 

choose.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

The Orange Rolls (Poem 162)

Worn and polished to a shine,

Dusted with freckles and flour,

Knuckles knobby against 

The birdlike fineness of her bones,

Grandma's hands worked

The dough--crumbling,

Kneading, twisting, and finally,
Nestling each short rope

Against its neighbor 

Until the pan was filled. 

The recipe, she said, was 

Secret, passed along by a friend

Long-since dead--

A mystery certain to set

My girlish head to yearning--

For the time she remembered

As simpler,

For the romance of the songs

She hummed, 

For the swirling silks 

Worn by dancers 

Initiated into the  mysteries

Of the Foxtrot 

And the Rhumba...

Finally the timer rang out

Like the bell on my bike handles,

And we hurried, 

Pink cheeked, sniffing the air,

To admire the fruits of our labor,

As yet unglazed.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Produce Senryu (Poem 161)

Red grapes growing soft

Peach punctured by fingernail

Yellowing green beans

Empty spinach bin

Avocados picked over

Plums running to mold

Monday afternoon

Is seldom an ideal time

To shop for produce

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Needlework (Poem 160)

Needle tip dips in and out of fabric,

Catching the light,
Drawing up stitches with a rasping tug--
Side by side, like satin,
Peppered, like a delicacy,
A garnish to be consumed sparingly,
Strewn, like newly mown grass--
Lemon-butter silk, raspberry soufflé perle,
Terracotta cotton, fine as a web,
Linen the color of cocoa
With whipped cream. Sweetly
Suggestive of traditional
Feminine wiles and fragile cups
Poured and passed
With secret smiles, and
An occasional glancing
Brush of trembling fingertips.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Evening in October (Poem 159)

Evening in October,

summer now 

      deliciously out of reach, 

like a lingering itch

      in the center of your back

String of tiny lights

strung around an awning,

casting a golden glow on garden 

      chairs whose seats 

         are now reserved 

for mounds of damp brown leaves

Smoke hangs 

    heavy in the air, resting

sweetly on winter's first chill

The road we used to walk along,

when evenings stretched 

      well into night

--alight with fireflies 

and hazy stars--

is rutted and slick with frost,

like fine white lace on the mud

But our fingers are still 

entwined, and your hand,

your fine, strong hand,

is still warm

in mine

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Lingering (Poem 158)

At the bottom 

Of  glass of tea

Settled sugar

Melts into the

Sweetest sip,

Like the last

Lingering days 

Of summer.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Strange Thing (Poem 157)

Strange

   how the days slow down

   as they grow shorter

Strange

   how the light grows warmer

   as the temperatures fall

Strange

   how you reach for me

   when I don't want you

Strange

   how you catch me smiling

   about nothing at all

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Ancient Words (Poem 156)

Turn the flowers inside out,

let their petals fold and 

mold themselves around 

the shape of a summer afternoon--

a magenta parasol, or tent of rose 

and pale gold, a sumptuous palace 

lush enough to hold the treasures 

of the grandest fairytale queen.

Turn the flowers inside out, 

and read the patterns of 

their veins, their life's blood 

stains your fingers and 

the sun--a great cathedral window, hung on emerald frames--

illuminates their fragile curves

and intricate design. Come, 

laze with me voluptuously,

until the hour turns blue, and 

the flowers gaze up 

at the moon, and I, 

the silvery, shifting mist,

whisper ancient words to you.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six 

Headlong (Poem 155)

This poem is dedicated, in friendship and gratitude, to the memory of Sgt. Joseph Tomaselli, New Hanover (Pa.) Police Department.

On the southeastern horizon, 

The storm looms, gunmetal gray,

Riding the massive swells

Like a mad horseman.

On shore, shoppers 

Hoard food and prepare 

To hunker down. Their headlights 

Slice the unnatural twilight, 

Bringing to many a heart

A twinge of holiday nostalgia.

On the beach, wind-driven sand 

Stings his face, yet he strides 

Headlong into the gale--

Resting in the shadow of the clouds,

Lulled by the sway of the sea,

Trusting in the sunrise at the other end.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

She Carried His Laughter (Poem 154)

She carried his laughter 

like a trembling daisy 

into the eye of the storm

a dull wind stirred 

the dust and discarded 

wrappers at her feet,

yet she remained pristine, 

clean as a cat and as smug, 

her treasure clasped 

in her hands, which folded 

around it as if in prayer. 

There, where the sun 

glinted off shards of glass 

like a field of glittering diamonds, 

she turned her face 

to the sky and listened 

for that sweet song 

that made the angels blush. 

There, she laid it down, then 

turned around, turned 

inward, toward home.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Disparity (Poem 153)

Peak of progress:

Metropolitan economists

enjoy unusual assets and 

depend on transformation 

cloaked by disruption.

Few weaker people are picky. 

They amass concentrated wonder

and practice flexibility-- 

involuntary individuals, working.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

With appreciation to Jon Talton and Seattle Times, for the original text used to create this erasure.

Silly Me (Poem 152)

Silly me,

I told myself,

When wrapping

Up your gift...

I had no expectations

But a full-blown rose

A glass of wine 

A love poem

Seemed most fit.

Just another present

To declare my love anew:

A magic box of buttercreams

A silky scarf

A lasting dream

A hand-knit hat

A rag-top car

A parakeet, 

A mason jar

The sun and moon

The northern star.

But in my outstretched palms

You see a walnut shell 

A robin's egg, a book of verse,

A piece of chalk, an apple pie,

A late-spring walk. 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six