Even in darkness (Day 1289)

So quietly, the desert 

smoothes all wrinkles 

from the night

Only a rustle, a hiss, 

as ignorance steals away.

Even in darkness, 

truth sustains trust.

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Flooded skies (Day 1288)

Flooded skies   sweet 

and serious as tonic

empty as no response  

bulbs flash   some remain 

unfulfilled   flat  

regretful   the new arrivals 

depart   balancing their

blades of  yellowed grass 

like nesting wasps   

leaving certain promises 

untended  to hatch alone

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

More closely (Day 1287)

we knew all as equal

misunderstanding what would come

every heartbreak  devastation

each joy  beyond compare

until we learned to see more 

closely  to take a wider view —  

miraculous forests underfoot  

where stands of mosses soared 

vast planes of river stones  

safeguarding the secrets of ages  

and  astounding  the kindness of 

strangers  sustaining us  more reliably 

than even our greatest passions

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Ridges (Day 1286)

Swimming   dusk coffee-dark 

air like silver sparrows   

we breathed 

rain   morning puddles   

mountainsides   blue 

as a noon sky   pine-serrated 

ridges   looming   

blocking the last rays 

of red dust sunset   

on our tongues

the taste of iron & midnight

   

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Drought year (Day 1285)

we drove northwest

toward a distant

dark smudge of granite

 

through low oak-studded 

folds   resting   golden 

as fallen pears

in the full midday sun

katydids rasped messages 

in complex code

urgent answers

to the problem of rain 

which would pass  

to the south or slide

down the eastern slopes

if it fell at all

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Night Sky Tanka (Day 1284)

behind rippling hills

dividing the salmon sky

miracle, unseen

belief thwarts disappointment 

— eternity requires trust

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Background music (Day 1283)

A little bit uncomfortable.

A tiny bit of darkness around the edges.

A missing. A yearning. 

A grief that nibbles from time to time 

at your insides like a mouse —

not mean spirited, not intending harm. 

That’s just what grief does.

It plays in the background, like cicadas 

in summer. Like a radio on low volume.

Every now and then, the music surges, 

an advertisement blares, 

catching your attention. You notice it,

slightly puzzled, and then it fades,  

gradually, into the background again.

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Of masks & dogs (Day 1282; Pandemic series #11)

The day came when dogs 

grew so accustomed to face masks 

that they no longer growled 

suspiciously at friendly neighbors 

we  too  stopped seeing them

though they were worn   mostly

& learned to speak more clearly   

to smile with our eyes

grocers   once devoted to 

brand-name goods   now stocked 

oddly-labeled  off-brand soaps 

& imported hand sanitizers 

& finding a few boxes of our favorite 

pasta on a store’s shelves

was cause for sotto voce cheers

and an unobtrusive victory dance

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

The inescapable hum (Day 1281)

The world drifts past 

like time   slow   unpredictable 

voices mingling with traffic 

and the inescapable hum 

of human existence 

Silence has been banished 

Even the farthest reaches 

of unrelieved ice and cloud 

are prey to the distant rumble 

trailing jumbo jets 

on their way around the globe 

How funny we are   yearning 

always   for that 

which we have destroyed 

We are the authors 

of our own discontent 

Spoiled children   we break 

the toys we love most   

surprised when we learn 

they are irreplaceable as time

which drifts past 

like the unpredictable world

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Old-fashioned storm (Day 1280)

In unison, the treetops 

sway — a graceful, verdant 

wind ballet. 

Fast approaching, 

west to east, the storm 

roars, fierce as any beast. 

Below black clouds, the grass 

glows green, reflecting 

light for now unseen. 

Then, quickly as it came 

it’s gone, the sun rolls out 

the squall moves on.

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Every passing day (Day 1279)

To the south   rain threatens

looming darkly   and when 

the clouds finally break 

the drops tap   urgent fingers   

on our windows   dissolving 

into liquid gray twilight   

depleted by the storm   

the mind falters   wears thin   

longs to turn to the west 

bronzed and mellow in the sun 

and still   the days arrive   

one after another   

each revealing answers 

to questions best posed 

only in sleep   and those 

indecipherable messages   

even were we willing to admit 

to their truth   ask more   

and more   of us

with every passing day 

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Tanka for Day 1278

intimate petals 

freshly exposed  paper-white

faces uptilted

testing the dried-daffodil 

scent of impending August

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Patiently the page (Day 1277)

Patiently   the page 

waits   and the pen

while I wash bowls

fold towels

and walk the dog

house in order   then

and out of chores

I wander to my desk

where aqua lines

lay   tranquil

and undisturbed

providing structure for 

my struggling words

a landing place 

for stories   notes 

and poems   until 

the day they find

their proper homes

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Settling (Day 1276)

noon’s harsh glare 

softens  cooling 

into welcome dusk

the world falls away

how many restless 

hours we spend 

settling  becoming 

ourselves again

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Haiku for Day 1275

Barefoot in cool grass

Rising like smoke, voices twine

Sunset paints treetops

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six & Denise Wyant

Plume (Day 1274)

uneven shoreline

a singular white plume curls

  reflected below

© 2020 by Hannah Six

In the house, alone (Day 1273)

he found himself in the house

alone   reading yesterday’s news

at the breakfast-littered kitchen table 

taking one last sip   he glanced up

at the pale walls   dotted with 

those small   delicate things 

women seemed obliged to own

tiny portraits in ornate silver frames

his grandmother’s sampler 

slightly unravelled   the dream had faded 

into sleep   once it was 

miraculous   an effulgent vision 

plucked on impulse from 

an overhanging branch   a stolen rose   

clutched   thorns and all   in trembling hands   

with all the promise of spring   it began

then summer   and autumn  nothing

lasts forever   he thought   but perhaps

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

In landing (Day 1272)

deciding what to do 

with missing 

wings

when I think of  

when I flew 

away   

years ago   clouding 

my eyes   peace 

rushing in my ears

the danger is 

in landing  

mistakenly 

among hours 

extravagant 

with music

when silence 

would be 

the wiser choice

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Doubt (Day 1271)

with life ebbing and flowing 

below the fracturing walls 

of grandeur — a ghost town 

devoid of thoughtful composure 

and informed conversation 

— sweet sea breezes temper 

rapidly-spreading flames 

sparkling and simmering like love   

whose siren songs cast doubt 

on opposition   waiting patiently 

for the last of twilight to fade 

into a welcoming darkness

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Meanwhile, the world... (Day 1270)

the desert floor is strewn 

with splinters 

of broken sky   reflecting 

an unwonted haze

& this day 

persists   sundrenched   stinging

we shield our eyes

gaze upward   concerned 

who among us failed to listen 

who was spared fear & regret

while a smudge   low 

on the horizon   bloomed 

and spread   vivid as a consuming 

grief   inbibing clouds & stars 

& this day   

persists   immeasurable

an unwelcome guest   a heaviness 

in the heart   so shameful 

we dare not look

we dare not look 

away

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Curious struggle (Day 1269)

another immobile evening 

brightens and obscures 

while we wander 

the curious struggle   as ever   

overshadowing uninformed 

dreams   piercing the fog   

a staccato confusion falling 

like footsteps on the pavement

when did we first 

    glimpse a ripple

how to listen 

    so others may hear

where will it settle   

all this   when we are gone   

and sleep   long-anticipated   

seizes and drifts to a standstill 

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

That McDonald’s... (Day 1268)

then there was the dark one

most familiar by moonlight

long after the blessed 

and the good drifted off

to a favorite song   words

familiar as a nettle’s sting

sustenance with a secret

worth keeping   

waiting for   waiting   

on midnight’s hushed shore 

for an uninvited guest

who never failed to disappoint

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Submerged (Day 1267)

Submerged 

stories   swimming 

toward the surface

holding their breath 

stubbornly 

refusing to emerge

all you can do is 

sit on the banks 

and wait

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

My ocean (Day 1266)

The blue sky is my ocean

wind-filled trees 

                stand in for sails

and the swifts dive

               sleek as dolphins

while plump white clouds

          swim by like whales

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Quickly, slow (Day 1265)

Quickly, slow hours pass

Orange cat dreams of forests

We wonder: How soon? 

Prowling among lost pages

Night descends like yesterday

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Beneath the canopy (Day 1264)

we were sitting in the heat   

in the shade   beneath the canopy 

and rain came 

   dense as thunder   we remained outside 

and thunder vibrated 

   beneath our feet

and the wind blew out the sun 

   until we began to cool

and the rain on pavement 

   so hot it burned our eyes

that delicious summer when 

   we tolerated one another  

before there was lightning   and heat 

   stole our breath until we laughed 

at the absurdity of rain   

   pummeling the sidewalk 

like waves   splintering into spray

   slick on our faces   

and the rain started 

lightly   growing heavier   and we stood 

there   laughing until we cried

© 2020 by Hannah Six

If I could tell you just one thing (Day 1263)

If I could tell you just one thing, I would 

tell you about the light before a storm, glittering 

with suppressed energy, colors heightened,

shapes defined, as clouds collapse over one another 

on the western rim — the birds’ bacchanalian chorus,

the crickets’ and katydids’ and cicadas’ 

frenzied whir and buzz — then

silence.

A far-off wind rumbles low, growing ever louder, 

rolling over the fields, and breaking over the trees, 

just moments before the first drop falls, 

soon a torrent. How air becomes liquid, drowning 

the dessicated world, until you wonder 

how breathing is even possible. 

Surely nothing can survive this falling flood.

And, for a moment, some ancient animal 

deep inside panics — anxious, claustrophibic, 

desperate to flee — then  

silence.

In a blink, each droplet flashes its captured sunlight, 

and the renascent world blazes with incandescent steam.  

A single bird calls, and then another. 

One cricket tests his wings.

If I could tell you just one thing, I would tell you this.

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Dreaming of liberty (Day 1262)

Dreaming of liberty? 

Remember, freedom looks 

nothing like a 250-year-old daydream. 

Real freedom evolves 

and the truly-free evolve with it, 

accepting and adapting to new ways 

of thinking and being, rather than clinging 

to faded myths and half-truths.  

That willingness to change may be

the essential nature of independence.

Or, on the other hand, perhaps 

it is simply essential.

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

That’s OK (Day 1261)

Do you wonder how it feels

to be desired? 

That’s OK. 

Do you miss your family 

and the people 

you called friends?

That’s OK, too.

 

Missing is much easier

than comfort

or even love

which can be a bed of nails

or just a pebble in your shoe.

Because the end of a thing

always leaves 

a trace of itself 

behind — 

A handkerchief

hiding in a sock drawer.

A song suddenly missing

from a well-loved LP —

only crackling silence

filling the space

where music once was.

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Safeway at Sunrise (Day 1260)

The first one shone   

bright as hope dawning 

on an autumn day   

and empty as I could have wished   

except for the man 

tending the flowers and trees

who   one morning   walked up    

bashfully   high-heeled sandals

dangling from thin leather straps

and asked what size shoes I wore

I bought these for my girl   

he said   but she left   

they’re brand new   

so   before I throw them away 

I thought I’d offer them to you

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Without warning (Day 1259)

Without warning

everything slumps 

toward night   except

he does not

swaying among these 

rocking masts  breath 

tepid   frail   complex 

as spring   truth 

fraying at the seams   

a needle of arctic wind 

piercing the skyline 

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six