Tuesday, June 30, 2020

Lullaby (Day 1258)


night-cooled strands 

    of shadows 

reflections in rustling 

    river-rock branches   

yesterday’s forgotten 

    needs whisper 

from the edge of edges


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Monday, June 29, 2020

The empty Centre (Day 1257)

This one is bleak and unprivate

bound by vacant big-box stores

and fast food chains

long past their prime   lacking 

shade   it offers little more 

than too much room 

to think the same few thoughts


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six   

 


Sunday, June 28, 2020

Haiku for Day 1256

sheer-curtained June night 
fireflies arc through swaying oaks
open eyed, waiting

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Saturday, June 27, 2020

Weis Markets #167 (Day 1255)

This one is windblown 

trees    thunderous 

heat   dust spattering 

the side panel

coating the dash through 

open windows

but time is mine here   

and room to imagine 

being 

in a hurry 

to go home


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Friday, June 26, 2020

Markings (Day 1254)


through an open door   

a butterfly wandered


markings like eyes   

fixed on your heart 


and stayed for hours 

gazing at you


white-spotted wings 

fluttering 


like desire   

the taste of it  red dust


the feeling   sunshine   

like trying 


to capture a droplet 

of imagination 


falling   pen in hand 

you sip words 


like a flower   each slowly 

melting on your tongue


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Thursday, June 25, 2020

How will we compare (Day 1253)


when the ice is gone

& we have only fire

how will we compare


when the sky opens

& the blue trails away

into


the constellations 

dispassionate

(a map of your heart)

 

when we are left with 

only cloud-consuming fire 

how will we celebrate 


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six


Wednesday, June 24, 2020

Extinct (Day 1252)


Behold   the abhorred vaccuum

A common truth   now extinct

Maybe another time   you say


Every day   it is not yesterday

Nothing stays the same   except this


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six


Tuesday, June 23, 2020

Midair (Day 1251)

The shell of daylight

cracked 

our hearts   bursting 

with barely a pop 

we break   

apart   fingertips swirling 

over fragile   and  

we break 

the horizon   awash

with blue-green lightning 

and   every time   

heart somersaulting 

in midair   I come to know

again   you   see?

through these curtains  

you never say

but I have come to be 

parted 

by evening’s cooling rush 


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six


Monday, June 22, 2020

Shelter (Day 1250)

just as the sun became
an inverted fountain of heat 

& light   we sat outside   listening 
intently as old photographs   

fraught with the expectations 
of ten thousand memories   

frayed minds sailing effortlessly
skimming the glinting edges 

of the promises we offered to shelter 
one another from fire & flood

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Sunday, June 21, 2020

Quieter than cold (Day 1249)

Truth dawns 
quieter than cold
betrayed 
by a circling hawk 
persuaded 
by a field of asters 
cast aside 
on an autumn-bare 
hillside   selfish 
and bitter as a door 
abruptly closed

© 2020 by Hannah Six



Saturday, June 20, 2020

In progress (Day 1248)

The world was larger then.

The vastness of California still a mystery
(Still. A mystery.)
to easterners

who seemed to believe San Franciscans 
could just pop down to L.A. for an afternoon
(Or would.)

who thought we all talked, like, ohmygawd! 

And if you know what I mean, 
you understand.

The vastness of California, of Nebraska,
or, from a different point of view, Pennsylvania.

A question that, now, can only be resolved
with a map you cannot fold. 

But we know, you and I — those folds 
themselves were essential to the mystery, 

an unending source of wonder to anyone 
who opened a map, then tried to fold it up again. 

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Friday, June 19, 2020

Languid (Day 1247)


Thunderstorms approach

the air close and warm as laundry 

fresh from the dryer


In a languid gray distance 

the sky purrs    almost satisfied

and curls into itself   


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Thursday, June 18, 2020

& a promise (Day 1246)

morning rushes in   pale turquoise 

wave bubbling with song 

& a promise   tendrils of night 

cling to my shoulders   

tangle my hair   but I must count 

these unrelenting hours 

until the fireflies rise & fall

cascading like stars 

in a honeysuckle-infused sky 


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six


Wednesday, June 17, 2020

As salt (Day 1245)

Cat stretched out 
long as July 
afternoons

like distant music
heat melts 
into your veins

and tomorrow
reliable as salt
will unfold like today

in that   
we may find solace
or disquiet

which is preferable


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Tuesday, June 16, 2020

What woke him (Day 1244)

He jolted awake, half-risen 
from his pillow 
before his eyes opened,
leaning on an elbow, 
head cocked to better hear 
what had startled him.

And over the thrumming 
of his heart,
and over the rushing 
of his blood:

Silence.

Where there should 
have been crickets: 
Silence.

When cicadas and katydids 
should have filled the night 
with their baroque cacophony:
Silence.

Silence, and the trees.
Silence, under a wide, 
tar-black sky glistening, 
as if wet with dew.

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Monday, June 15, 2020

Whistle (Day 1243)

Where do you travel
when you have to
walk alone?

Is your path
narrow
or broad?

Are the trees 
overhead alive 
with yellow birds?

What tunes
do you whistle
as you go?

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Sunday, June 14, 2020

Drained (Day 1242)

How many years 
have passed since the sun 
truly shone   flickering 

like it once did 
on a gregarious sea
what is left for us

to say   as tiny flecks 
of blue & gray dissolve 
our soluble world 

& empty hallways fill 
with the forgotten & the old
following our progress 

with eyes like fountains   
drained & cordoned off 
for cleaning & repair 

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Saturday, June 13, 2020

Slightly crushed (Day 1241)


I remember being underwater

and how your face wavered 

beyond the surface


you were laughing   lifting me out

my hair streaming   

and I shivered in my T-shirt


looking away (few knew you 

were so gallant)  you enveloped me 

in your denim jacket  


I remember how warmth lingered 

in that shearling collar   

your scent   dusky as pine trees 


baking in the summer sun   

smoky as the Marlboros   always 

stuffed in your chest pocket   


when you disappeared 

they were all you left behind

and   half ashamed   I hid them


and when the missing threatened 

to sweep me out to sea  

I opened the box    slightly crushed


and smoked them   one by one   

breathing you in   wondering 

if   at that moment   


you were doing the same while

perhaps   remembering how

my face wavered below the surface


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Friday, June 12, 2020

Lights (Day 1240)


curtain falls
lights rise
imagined gives way 
to real   which is 
sometimes 
better

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Thursday, June 11, 2020

Incised (Day 1239)



variable line
imprecisely elegant
incised on absence

wavering toward its destination
papers edge a borderless horizon

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Wednesday, June 10, 2020

Poison (Day 1238)

apathy resolves 

into waste 

rotting like dreams

in the midday sun 


why should it 

take violent storms 

or the deviant 

appetites of pale men 


when he 

who shall not be obeyed 

clearly longs 

to remand us into custody 

of perpetual winter 


locked in forgotten cages

to atone 

for our sins   perhaps a death 

or two 

perhaps thousands 

 

beginning at the end  

blind 

to the gold 

they hide behind 

we choose each other


hearts ocean wide

because even a sip

of despair 

is bitter poison   and we

have drained the bottle


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six


Tuesday, June 9, 2020

Not yourself (Day 1237)

Why are you not yourself?


The dark mirror of your eyes 

reflects half-forgotten dreams 

and melted snow.


I have no words to ask,

you have no words to answer.


So, we wait, 

and, together, search

our precarious ground 

for a thousand missing pieces.


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Monday, June 8, 2020

Goodnight, woods (Day 1236)

bowing and nodding

murmuring to each other

in creaking voices


evening climbs the tallest 

trees — dark tapers set aflame 

by the sun’s goodnight kiss

    

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Sunday, June 7, 2020

Scene set (Day 1235; pandemic series #10)


Day: Sizzling
Tea: Chilled
Shade: Almost cool
Tables: Sidewalk
Limit: Six per
Required distance: Six feet
Diners: The Regulars
Number: Twelve per table
Distance: Shoulder to shoulder
Protection: Opinions, loudly voiced
Motivation: Fear
Consideration: Scarce
Those who want: Many
Those who need: Invisible
Those who care: ______

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six


Saturday, June 6, 2020

Moonless (Day 1234)

Fleeing our thunderous silence

we stray outside


tumbling into the bottomless 

fog-drawn night 


our footfalls ceaseless 

as distant cliff-bound surf 


the echoes   recalled   

less rhythm than lament


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six



Friday, June 5, 2020

What thoughts (Day 1233)

What thoughts are hers, transfixed by the unseen,

leaning alone against her stainless sink?


Whose voices rise and fall beyond the door,

laughing at memories she no longer shares?


Why, all alone, with company nearby,

does she continue in this twilit room?


When, steered by others’ choices, did she veer

into the path of this oncoming train?


How many landscapes have absorbed her gaze?

How many years will measure her defeat?


Where love wanders, the faithful fall behind,

to seek solace among what ruins they find.


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six



Thursday, June 4, 2020

How many battles (Day 1232)

How many battles 

can we fight   how many 

can we win 

the sky itself bearing down 

on us   

the sun   wrapped 

in a blanket of sedition

we yearn for lost freedoms 

that may never have been ours

and for justice

which surely never was 

we cry out his name 

ears reverberating with 

a thunderous silence 

on the bruised morning air


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six


Wednesday, June 3, 2020

Reading ahead (Day 1231)

Page by page   

they flipped 

ahead   through 

summer to fall   

hoping to learn 

how it would 

all turn out


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Tuesday, June 2, 2020

Even the stars (Day 1230)

Even the stars were wrong 

there   each constellation 


a reminder   we spent years 

moon-gazing   candle burning


long after midnight   we mapped 

the erosion of our hearts   


and charted our course home   

of course we expected to be alone


and that much is true   still

imagine our surprise at finding 


it was we   and not the stars 

who had been wrong


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six