Monday, August 31, 2020

Then none (Day 1320)

Outside, the eaves shed fat drops of water 

which landed below with a metallic clink 

that brought caves to mind. A candle 

flickered on the mantel, where seven photos 

were arranged in tiny frames. She chose one 

and studied it briefly, as if looking for answers, 

then replaced it and gazed out the window. 


two blossoms, then one

wind tugs at rain-slicked branches

one blossom, then none


(2020) by Hannah Six

Sunday, August 30, 2020

The fan — a tanka for Day 1319


Glancing side to side

the fan describes perfect arcs

with unobserved grace.


How often we fail to see

such beauty in the mundane.


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Saturday, August 29, 2020

Otherwise (Day 1318)


Attachment leads to suffering,

they say. And so, I will suffer.

Because how could I not 

hold you—closely, tenderly—

a secret treasure 

in the heart of my heart?

After a jagged rain, when 

every dispirited cloud slips away, 

revealing a forget-me-not sky, 

it is not the sun, but you 

enveloping me in a glow 

of pure contentment. 

And the handful of stars 

that shine fiercest before dawn 

pale in comparison 

to the white-hot joy 

of reaching out in the darkness

to find you there, 

where you always are.

I cherish you because I must.

And, when, one day, we part, 

I will suffer less, knowing 

that breathless, clenching pain is 

love, longing for a place to land, 

and that everything 

has always been as it should. 

How could it have been otherwise? 


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Friday, August 28, 2020

Suddenly, the shadows (Day 1317)


Suddenly, the shadows —

four o’clock shade where 

there had been none at seven


And the winged things singing 

in the trees are no longer 

birds  but crickets  cicadas 

and katydids  whose chirps 

and hums and whirs fill the air  

long into the lengthening nights  


Summer is slipping away

but not yet   autumn 

is nudging at the mornings  

but there is time  still  to walk 

barefoot in dew-cooled grass


© 2020 by Hannah Six


Thursday, August 27, 2020

A friend in need (Day 1316)


Lipstick dotted her front teeth, and on each eyelid hovered 

a dash of electric blue, somewhere in the vicinity of her lashes.

She said: Isn’t it droll, how things seem to go from bad to worse? 

She said: A friend in need is a pain in the ass!

She said: Pour me another one, would you sweetie? 

She was seldom refused. 

And now, suitcase in tow, she smiled at the cloudy sky, 

and walked away without a single backward glance. 

She said: Any old goat can manage a grand entrance, but 

it takes real sophistication to make a memorable departure.


© 2020, by Hannah Six

Wednesday, August 26, 2020

Somewhere (Day 1315)

Somewhere, fishing boats

sway on a placid harbor


a column of vultures

wheels in a glassy sky


fed by glaciers, a creek

bisects a wild meadow


and the world is 

about to burst

into bloom


doubling back on itself 

again and again

a gravel road climbs 


the air is soft

the ocean warm

and time itself 

is patient


all this, somewhere, 

but — today — 

not here.


© 2020 by Hannah Six

Tuesday, August 25, 2020

An empty chair (Day 1314)


Goodbye is a blank page

waiting for stories 

of the past 

and of the future.

It is an empty chair,

placed just so before 

a garden-facing window,

a parking space

where no car is,

a pillow 

on which a beloved 

head once rested,

and now will not.

Goodbye is the lyrics

without the melody,

a poem,

without language or form,

an empty space

in the inverted V

of a flock of geese, 

flying southward in September.

Goodbye is unresolved,

a question 

without answer,

a dream 

without a dreamer,

a map, continuously unfolding, 

urging us toward 

the unbearable treasure 

that is our birthright.



For Pat Schneider, remarkable artist, cherished friend


© 2020 by Hannah Six

Monday, August 24, 2020

Cobra (Day 1313)

...for he is a cobra,

& will forever be

fork-tongued 

and fanged. 

Only the naive 

believe they can 

lead him.

Only the foolish 

trust him 

to lead. 


© 2020 by Hannah Six

Sunday, August 23, 2020

And flames (Day 1312)


smoke            and the past

and flames    a full moon setting 

what is there to do

but pause      retreat   measure 

our words              tiny blue frogs 

delicate                  lethal   alert to 

stirrings in the air   

we hide          on distant shores  

behind silences     wide as the ocean   

knowing                 beyond knowing  

if we whisper         about this choking cloud 

of fire and ash       it is possible that 

no one will hear


© 2020 by Hannah Six

Saturday, August 22, 2020

Disturbance (Day 1311)


you are 

a disturbance

in the air


obstructing

my view

of forever


please

step to 

your right


© 2020 by Hannah Six

Friday, August 21, 2020

Tanka for Day 1310



Where once blue shade pools 

beckoned, promising respite,

frantic wasps swarm


Ghostlike, I linger, drawing 

neither notice nor contempt.


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Thursday, August 20, 2020

Unnamed (Day 1309)

 

As my day began

yours concluded.


I heard you, but

you did not sound

like I expected.


Here I am, I said,

I am here. Silence.


An unfamiliar feeling, 

but I know an ending 

when I hear it.


© 2020 by Hannah Six


Wednesday, August 19, 2020

Fear is like that (Day 1308)



Fear is like that sometimes  

expectant   ready 

to set the world on fire   but 

more often   it is like waking

from a deep sleep   shivering

yet unwilling to go 

in seach of another blanket 


© 2020 by Hannah Six

Tuesday, August 18, 2020

Out of sugar (Day 1307)


eight-thirty   nine o’clock

cool as gingerbread 

   on a cold countertop

we face each other over 

   the mail-scattered table

mugs brimming with 

   reheated coffee  no cream

      out of sugar

it’s not the words

   but the achingly polite 

      tone   itchy 

         as a cheap wool sweater 

when all you long for

   is the sympathetic embrace

      of worn flannel sheets


© 2020 by Hannah Six

Monday, August 17, 2020

The year (Day 1306)

the year was a shallow night

seeping like ink 

from an empty bottle

cruel as a breeze that cools

the cooling air   red as wine  

slightly stale with dreams 

unfolded  carefully

as letters pink with promise

and eggshell excuses

draw close  whispered

the lonesome thief of sleep


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Sunday, August 16, 2020

What she imagined (Day 1305)

Once she’d opened it, she knew,

there would be no going back.


So she let it wilt like a wildflower 

in her hand, and took another sip,


gazing at a world stained blue 

and green by delicate bottles, carefully 


arranged along the windowsills. 

She looked at them with loathing.


What she’d imagined: Freedom. 

No connections to anchor her to history,


except a lingering sense of beforeness

rippling and reflecting off the water. 


Most days, she ventured north or south 

along the shore, the sand a blank page 


embossed with a single set of footprints. 

From far off in the distance, 


a ringing, insistent, intrusive as 

a late-night motorist seeking directions.


At last, the curtain was about to rise 

on the well-rehearsed performance 


in which they would burst into flames 

— a long distance crash and burn —


and days would pass before 

there was news of any survivors.


© 2020 by Hannah Six


Saturday, August 15, 2020

Haiku for Day 1304

This shadowless world

Deflating into darkness

Sky white as the moon






© 2020 by Hannah Six

Friday, August 14, 2020

The sweetness at the end of the meadow (Day 1303; Part 4: C__)


4. C__


Not a witch but, if you had ever been, 

you would have forgotten by then 

how to cast a spell. Still, you have to agree 

that your snaking strands of silvery hair 

and walnut shell face might lead some 

to believe what was untrue,  

and isnt that a spell of its own, somehow? 


Two towels, one hand towel and a washcloth.

Surrounded by familiars — 

you had them by the dozens, didn’t you, 

though you would have called them your children, 

or your family or your friends, 

if you had called them anything at all, 

which never did. 


Two towels, one hand towel and a washcloth.

In exchange, a toothless grin, your eyes glittering 

from deep within an impenetrable forest, 

What was it your silence whispered in my ear?

wakening in me an earnest tenderness, curiosity, 

and that unique brand of pity reserved 

by the young for the fallen aged. 


Two towels, one hand towel and a washcloth,

until the day your familiars were removed,

and you, and nothing else was required.


© 2020 by Hannah Six

Thursday, August 13, 2020

Unencumbered (Day 1302)

At the end of the day, 

I can think of only one place 

I’d rather be. 

But those plums have already 

ripened and fallen. 

Pillows softly settling 

underhead, I slip into the deep 

blue water of remembrance 

and swim, unencumbered.


© 2020 by Hannah Six

Wednesday, August 12, 2020

Madame (Day 1301)


The bark was oozing 

snow the color of pigeons,


drops of water falling 

one by one 


into the only book she kept.

That was the last straw.


Later, after much sobbing 

(& many kisses),


she solaced herself,

determined to be witty


as a doomed countess

in the shadow of a storm.


© 2020 by Hannah Six


Tuesday, August 11, 2020

The sweetness at the end of the meadow (Day 1300; Part 3: T__)


3. T__


eyes closed   I summon you   golden 

child   sitting cross legged in your door

every time when I look in the mirror

guitar cradled in your lap

following notes and chords 

down a mossy path into a sunlit corner 

only you could see

all these lines on my face getting clearer

and you   I wonder   where have you gone

since you bestowed your talisman on us?

always a lucky nut   you said   with a smile

like the full moon setting

the past is gone

and   though I wish you only peacocks

hummingbirds and cranes

with my eyes closed   I still see

you   forever innocent of the crimes 

perched like ravens in your future



© 2020 by Hannah Six





*Italicized lines: Lyrics to Dream On, by Steven Tyler

Monday, August 10, 2020

Haiku for Day 1299

Fine as silt today’s news 

settles between the reflections

painting these dusky walls


(c) by Hannah Six


Sunday, August 9, 2020

Let’s agree (Day 1298)

I thought you would be,

but you’re not.

It seems that I was wrong.

Instead of waiting

to find out,

I judged you all along.


We don’t need to share 

beliefs — let’s agree

to disagree —

but I’ll stand up for 

your right to yours.

You’d do the same for me.


Opinions make such 

boring friends, 

and so do hate and blame.

Inviting everyone 

makes for

a more exciting game.


© 2020 by Hannah Six


Saturday, August 8, 2020

The sweetness at the end of the meadow (Day 1297; Part 2: K__)

2. K__


Once a confidante  you have become

over the years  an enigma   a flash 

of sun on stucco   in the other room

Bo became oft-abducted Hope’s 

unlikely hero   what color 

was your hair   the scent of cigarettes  

smoke hanging in blue waves 

on cool  dark air   some lines never blur   

you were there  and then I was gone   

where did you go   a mountain 

of white towels  hot from the dryer

the ache of a fractured bone


© 2020 by Hannah Six


Friday, August 7, 2020

What dances (Day 1296)

pale yellow walls 

scattered with a 

collection of memories


violet blue sky 

trees and mist 

moonlight.  my heart 


stayed there and 

I find myself 

searching for breath.


it all began

with the first 

glimmer of snow


like moths under

the streetlights.  but

spring always arrives

 

sunlight falling through

the clouds like

silk scarves.  now


there is little

else to give

or I would.


so we dance 

and what dances 

blooms again tomorrow.


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Thursday, August 6, 2020

He told her (Day 1295)

He was always so good

at telling her what was

wrong.


And she excelled

at listening 

to him.


He told her

how he had been 

persecuted

(My ex claimed 

I had anger issues

but she’s crazy),

and she listened 

to him.


He told her

that most of the world

was inferior

(Every one of them are 

lazy cowards),

and she listened

to him.


He told her

about every little thing

that was wrong 

with her,

and she listened



to her grandmother,

who always told her:

“When someone complains 

about others,

you’d best believe he is 

talking about himself.”


© 2020 by Hannah Six

Wednesday, August 5, 2020

Another Pause (Day 1294)

Feverish sea of rippling 

quicksilver  yearning 

for the just-set sun  rose-gold 

breathes into a blue horizon  

another day pauses —

this breathless interlude

— before embracing all

the mysteries of twilight


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Tuesday, August 4, 2020

Haiku for Day 1293

surging river of glass

shards of blue slice silken clouds

transparent as time


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six


Monday, August 3, 2020

Silliness for Day 1292

Carefully, he cleans.

Revealing siren belly fur.

Pristine, touchable.


I bear the scars of folly.

Caress it at your peril.


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Sunday, August 2, 2020

The sweetness at the end of the meadow (Day 1291; Series, Part 1: M__)


1. M__


You always called during dinner.

(This was before we took to eating in our rooms). 

Bowls would be passed from hand to hand, 

my sister and I making faces at 

the slurping noises coming 

from across the table, where the boys, 

to whom eating was serious business, shoveled 

and swallowed impassively.


When the phone rang, mid-meal, everyone knew.

In an irritating sing-song voice, 

someone would announce, unnecessarily:

Daaad, M__’s calling again!


ShiTT, he’d mutter, emphasizing the T as if annoyed, 

though we knew he wasn’t.


We always knew it was you on the other end of the line,

because we could hear you wailing in distress from the other room. 

(Hysterical, we children of the patriarchy called it 

— a word derived from the Greek hystera, meaning ‘uterus,’ 

pertaining to female symptoms 

formerly believed to be caused by a defect in the womb.) 


Having known you better ten years later, 

and having lived many tens of years after that, I wish we had 

understood your deep well of desperation, 

understood that it was more than another evening’s entertainment,

understood that most things are not as they appear at first glance 

— a friendly smile, a joke, a marriage —

understood how, out of all human feelings, helplessness 

is, perhaps, the most devastating. 


No, we could not have known, being children, and thus cruel. 

But, maybe, our lack of understanding was for the best.


Because how could we, having once witnessed 

how much one person could lose, 

how very far it was possible to fall, and keep falling,

have taken even one confident step forward? 


As for you, M__, you were a kind soul, and would not 

have wished that upon us. Neither would you have known that, 

on the nights you called, Dr. __’s dinner was always eaten cold.


(c) 2020 by Hannah Six




Saturday, August 1, 2020

Inferno (Day 1290)

back then   they replaced 

that deep blue jazz


with bland white skies 

such a downer  


someone said   too much   

reverb   alight with grace 


everyone knew this 

would never be 


an inferno of creation   but 

merely a fey marble beauty


cool   with occasional flares 

of brilliance   a pleasant day   


& now all they do is adore 

the history of that which 


they sent soaring on its own 

flaming wings 



(c) 2020 by Hannah Six