How to Starve Your Demons, or Why I Stopped Looking at Social Media After the 2016 Election (Day 286)

How to Starve Your Demons, or 

Why I Stopped Looking at 

Social Media After the 2016 Election

When I look at you,

peacefulness recedes.

The turquoise seas dry,

revealing their soft

underbellies, which

harden and crackle, 

a vast desert of 

shattered tempered glass. 

When I look at you,

fragile as I’ve grown,

something in my heart

stirs—awakening

a sense of dread—that

lives apart from me,

a burning creature

eternal and dark,

who crept in and stayed

after he arrived.

So I endeavor

to starve my demon

by never looking,

even askance, at 

you, summoning, and

ever beckoning

concealed in your blue 

like a false hero.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Illustration for Edgar Allan Poe's 
"Descent into the Maelstrom" 

by Harry Clarke (1889–1931), 

published in 1919 (via Wikimedia)

By the Phone (Day 285)

Upstairs  

in the spare 

room   imagining

your face 

with a mixture 

of dread 

and longing

I hang up 

the phone   cord 

snaps back 

into place   

  phones 

    had 

     twisty 

 spiral

    cords 

  then   

and tiptoe down

the stairs 

because my mother 

forbade me to 

call boys   I was 

supposed to wait  

for them 

to phone me   

but    somehow

the threat of 

being alone always 

terrified me 

more 

than my mother’s 

quick temper.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Free image via MaxPixel

First Cup (Day 284)

morning blue 

as twilight 

first sunbeams 

kiss my cup

ghostly steam 

pirouettes

(c) by Hannah Six

Image: bark via Flickr

Lapsed Lovers, Part 2* (Day 283)

...but all frozen operas melt, 

the Earth loves heat, and 

sweeping shade trees

love the Earth, and there, 

caught in the middle, they 

recall their favorite scenes, 

rekindling cold memories 

in which the very pears 

hanging within reach, sing 

golden notes in dulcet tones

no lover worth his bruised

blue heart will admit 

his part in affairs gone wrong,

and even Cupid rolls his eyes 

at their sigh-soft gazes and 

insistance on playing 

that song again

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: The Embarkation for Cythera (1717), Antoine Watteau 

(One of my all-time favorite paintings!)

*Continued from Lapsed Lovers, Part 1 Day 281

When the Magic Ends (Day 282)

When the magic 

ends

and the music 

winds down, find 

the one who’s still 

around,

helping you sweep up 

the fairy dust

and 

carrying dishes

to the sink. 

Choose him. 

You may not think 

so now, but he 

is the answer 

to those prayers 

and wishes—

the one 

who stays

after the party,

instead of leaving 

you

to clean up 

the mess

while he follows 

the rest of the crowd.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Wonderlane via Flickr

Lapsed Lovers, Part 1 (Day 281)

balloons bloom into clouds,

splashing shadows on the shining 

heads of twelve lapsed lovers, who turn 

their dazed eyes inward, reveling in 

triumphs, recounting tales of yearning 

and rough-hewn wisdom 

not one remarks on the livid scars 

that mar their conquered hearts, 

evidence of arrow-wounds, proof of 

the ancient sorrows and false starts 

that brought them to this place, 

a garden of gods, where they muse 

and stroke the smooth red skin 

of apples with their busy mouths 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: ateliersludosophiques

Moderate Cruelty (Day 280)

Tepid, aglow with the cuprous 

sweat of self-loathing, you 

resort to moderate cruelty 

again and again

that was always your way

of containing the steady trickle

of commentary—expert at everything

you do—that accrues 

in the pit of your stomach

day by day and no matter where

you look you are insensate 

to the shards of beauty 

that slice and snag your skin

with every blundering step you take

unable to understand that there 

are miles of possibility

at your feet

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: White House dot gov

Sea-swept (Day 279)

they danced at midnight

on a sea-swept isle  all coral 

haze and lagging rhythms

less than one day’s sail beyond

the bounds of measurable time

into the early morning 

hours like embers glow 

their rolling hues diffused against 

the crumbled walls of a secret 

beach embraced by headlands 

and a jealous sky   they unwrapped 

the gifts they carried  unfolding 

tales half by half  attentive 

to the rushing surf  

each listening  awestruck  to the sea

hushed and tender  whispering 

from deep inside the chambered shell

of the other’s upturned heart

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Free image via Pexels

Gate (Day 278)

Metal on metal

Sagging gate peals when opened

Coming  or  going

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Momentmal

Dark-eyed boys (Day 277)

two dark-eyed boys

their father 

at the window parting 

red curtains  kick a ball 

where the greenest grass 

grows  watered by tears 

she cried when she kissed them 

goodbye  there  then

all she could hope for was 

a warm day  lamenting that  

during the rain  they had 

not been able to play outdoors

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image:sasint

Against a Buttery Sky (Day 276)

Above the orchard, tall 

trees against a buttery

sky, sating my spirit’s

deep hunger, portending 

umber flanks 

of gourd-round hills,

a pasture dotted 

Heaven, northern dusk 

fog-sheltered need, 

won as we cried for more, 

but by dawn, still and

you should see 

where, small and fragile, 

it lives on in me.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: racorvese

Solace of Trees (Day 275)

We long to open 

doors, and breathe 

a freshening breeze, 

to leave 

our gates unlocked, 

accept the solace

of trees whose 

constellation of greens 

shimmer overhead, 

to step into the middle, 

soft as sleep, 

and forage among 

the refuse of our day, 

to sigh, to laugh, 

to weep outright 

for what we had 

to leave along the road, 

with so little time to choose, 

voices raised in protest: 

Let us stay! And yet, 

both sides refuse, 

both sides refuse

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Toward Los Angeles, CA 1937, by Dorothea Lange 

via US Library of Congress

Jump high the stairs (Day 274)

jump high the bleached and splintered stairs

today was so many no’s and don’ts

and now the children are poison darts

and now she come here and just give me a hug

no really that’s what she said

the parents know that water’s good

and beating on the window 

set the crickets down with heavy sun

squeaks and whistles rattling every tree

i won’t back up ‘til the battle’s won 

and here I sit

come on let’s go out front ‘cause she’s only five 

or ten minutes away

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: KRiemer

Decadent Elders (Day 273)

decadent elders tucked 

  away 

in black cashmere 

     ghostly 

clouds of smoke 

and silken shame 

       swirl  

excuses ugly 

in their chests none but 

the youngest 

meet the eye 

          glimmer 

of voices cherished 

      proclaim 

sparkling raised 

   to block 

the noonday sun 

     without 

that special something fun  

   you just can’t live 

so generously 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: The End of Dinner, 1913, Jules-Alexandre Grün

Half the Battle (Day 272)

When prepared     You’ve fought half the battle

Don’t you             Worry about me, while you’re away

Make your own    Luck, fate, or invention, they’re your’s, this

Day                       Break, these good intentions, the shiny gold trophy.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image of Puerto Rico: The Brandsmen

Five-thirty (Day 271)

The curtain of five-thirty 

in the morning is 

dark as pitch 

and quite opaque  though 

persistent dawn slips 

through at the edges 

now and then  drawn 

shawl-like against a curious 

draft  wool tickling and 

warming your shoulders  

at the window  other people’s 

dreams buffet the glass  

seductive  cold as snowmelt.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: US National Park Service