Haiku for Day 1381

handfuls of striped hours

sky dimming and brightening

reading between lines

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

White Rabbit (Day 1380)

White rabbit, on a rainy day.

White rabbit, with a patch of gray 

around one eye.

Where the cars park, out of place

among the trash cans — on his face

unbridled fear.

Who left him there, and drove away?

Abandoned him, on a bitter day

cold as their hearts?

Winter is near, though not here yet.

In the wild, this indoor pet

will not survive.

But, comes a man with bright blue eyes.

Comes a man who just (surprise!)

picks Rabbit up —

rescues him from noise and muck.

Four rabbit’s feet brought him good luck

and a new home.

Now, ears scritched and tummy fed,

curled up in his clean, warm bed,

White Rabbit dreams

of rainy days and cruel goodbyes,

of his good fortune — and he sighs,

as rabbits do.

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

CEO (Day 1379)

He ignored them   resisted 

hopes   concern   ideas   

about what should   could be

directed outward   anger was 

a different matter altogether   

blameless    he would never change   

though he considered 

tearing down   cutting off 

what flourished beyond reason   

pinching back unopened buds   

his will a strict diet   imposed 

on a reluctant gourmand   

whose diminishment   he believed

was no more than his due

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

How to say (Day 1378)

she taught me how 

to say these things I need 

to say to write a word a line 

a poem and how I already knew 

how she taught me to listen to 

my own sounds settling like ash 

or butterflies landing on my hair

hands eyelids fluttering white 

as blossom drifts in May when 

the sun heals and taught me to 

see that see how see why 

a story will tell itself one way 

or another it will tell you how 

let it tell me she said and before 

one more November sun had set 

she showed she taught me how

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Unlikely conflagration (Day 1377)

She imagined she saw 

the clouds catch fire   

an unlikely conflagration 

in the western sky

mountains & valleys absorbed 

by violet pools of rarified air 

at dawn   her candle burns   

still   in the dark   wisdom

a lingering dream 

of half-remembered freedom

perhaps time is an estuary 

exhaling a mist of fragile hopes

ebbing & flowing with the tides

channels opaque as miracles

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Tanka for Day 1376

Snow will fall   and fall

Enfolding   this bristling world

Silently   yielding

Softening acute edges

Clarifying the complex

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Right (Day 1375)

You are right

(in your wrongness).

Am I wrong

to support your right?

Does helping you hurt 

hurt me? 

Or does my help 

help?

Water and flame

— opposing

— we cancel  make

nothing  

of each other   and 

how it is

right

I cannot say   knowing

only   deeply

that it is so.

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Ancient songs (Day 1374)

a second spring   

gathering in nearly-leafless trees

the mists of morning rich 

with ancient songs 

of miles to go and hard 

frosts soon to come   

of truth   warm 

                 as midsummer’s eve

of truth   cold 

                 as a February lake

of truth   that to prefer either is 

                 to embrace our discontent   

so   bodies black against a sky 

blank as an empty page   

they call and swoop  yielding as one  

then  outmanoevering  

the paling sun   recede southward 

to more benevolent fields 

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Expansive (Day 1373)

Cerulean (red shade)   gazing 

into and through   branches 

newly revealed   standing 

ankle deep in asters 

and storm-stripped leaves   

how the expansive sky 

embraces communities 

of clouds   allowing   welcoming  

the northeasterly breeze building  

cascading over russet hills

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Cento 34 (Day 1372)

Last time  we were up

where the night was 

bright with stars & laughing 

stone fountains  

yet always looking back  

we swam  like catfish  caught 

in our own ripples  swelling 

like waves  after dark  

& practicing an innocence 

we had been unaware of —

no one had explained how

pracarious  how far we had 

to fall  before we met  

the ground again

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Like 100 years (Day 1371)

Solo   down & blue   

you slouch

like 100 years

of pale   dust 

rivulets striping 

cracked leather hands  

boots   lucky

you   with a shrug

or wink   say never

do stars fall   crash   

& burn   

may be   but first 

they fly 

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Until spring (Day 1370)

Counting the months until 

spring leaves unfurl  though

the hills and fields are green

Anticipatory winter  raining 

on autumn’s rich parade  

Would summer be as exquisite 

if it lingered to the last  with 

a prolonged introduction 

to temper February’s fade 

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Can’t lose (Day 1369)

We are losing

patience  a virtue

we are told we are losing

touch  our cool  

calm and collected  we wait

our faith  fingers crossed  

pens in hand  engines revving  

unwilling to lose  

our temper  our appetite

for justice piqued  our footing

on solid ground   this is not 

a losing battle  merely 

an uphill trudge 

through uncleared brush  

and these years passed slowly  

and we will rest 

when this is over  and we can’t 

lose for winning   

which may not be everything

but for us it is enough

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Shading the lens (Day 1368)

Arkansas! she said. Pity. He seemed so nice.

And with that, she turned her attention elsewhere, 

toward people who were not leaving for Arkansas. 

Nearby, a woman shot into the sun, shading the lens 

with her hand. Try as she might, she was unable to 

capture the day’s pervasive sense of intimacy suffused 

with estrangement. High clouds spread thin fingers 

across the sky, while a yellowjacket sipped, halfheartedly,

an abandoned glass of rose. It was not to his taste. 

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Haiku for Day 1367

slowly uncurling

smooth pink shell warmed by the sun 

irresistible

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Just clouds (Day 1366)

Sometimes   the clearest night

foretells a torpid rain 

like beads   the clouds 

wind through a waking dream   

tracing the narrow 

hours of midday

some fervent   some spent

shamelessly 

seeking the silver whisper 

of the glass

no miracles recalled   no 

false hopes   no blame

just clouds   & birds   like beads

strung through the trees

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

What happened in the orchard (Day 1365)

It was a leaf   red or orange or 

golden as an autumn day   that brushed 

against my hair as we wandered 

up the road   that landed 

in my hair   there   in the orchard 

on the road toward home

while we were walking

It was a leaf   caught on a cold damp 

wind whipping off the bay   

caught in tangled branches on 

a golden autumn day

as we made our way toward home   

the lane was dappled 

by the sun   and a leaf   caught 

in my hair   there   in the orchard 

on the road toward home

where we were walking

It was a not a leaf   

caught in my wind-tossed hair   

that web of gold bleached by 

the summer sun   and not a leaf 

that brushed against me

as we made our slow way home

there   amid the apple trees

when I reached up 

to brush a leaf away  

It was a wasp

busy doing what wasps will do 

on the just-cool brink of fall   

who stung me 

as most wasps will   too   when 

one assumes they are just leaves

caught up in wind-whipped hair

who stung me   there   

between my fingers

in the unkempt orchard we passed 

through   on the road toward home

when we were walking

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Tanka for Day 1364

Wasps’ nests hang empty.

Listening to the cat breathe,

while restless leaves fret.

Quiet as a winter’s day,

wide blue sky hungry for song. 

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Wet Sand (Day 1363)

Worse than meaningless —

Built on wet sand, lies collapse

When the tide rolls in.

Like breathing underwater,

The foolish go down trying.

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Pleasant as dawn (Day 1362)

Darkness   somehow   pleasant

as dawn   cold 

                       drizzle wetting   leaves

turning   gradually   

                       bronze   beneath 

starless skies   so solid   not even 

a hint of rose

                       smudged the horizon

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Nothing (Day 1361)

He knows   somewhere   

she knows   his name   

she knows   the width of his 

scarred knuckles   the power 

in those brown shoulders 

freckled by the sun   

his charm a blade 

so sharp   she knows the scent 

of his warm body 

in the early hours   and the deep 

vibration of his voice 

in the dark   snapping her back 

from her dreams    

in the silence before midnight   

when she feigns sleep

and she knows   better

than to answer 

his question with the truth   

so she says   Nothing

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Again, your eyes (Day 1360)

Again your eyes   gazing   

challenging

through windows large and small   

look away   just try to look

away   those breasts   lips   

thighs   abundance of pillowy flesh   

falling   smothering   consuming

in every scrumptious way   

but why do you 

paint   pose   display   why serve 

yourself on this   a crystal platter 

cradled   gently   between 

my interlaced fingers

does the cactus flower of fear 

bloom nightly in your heart   

urging   asking

will you see me and will you 

see   me   and you are 

ravishing   and I say yes

and you are here   spread 

like a feast   before me   the hunger 

stalking   but you are not

prey

and you are

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

After the fog (Day 1359)

After the fog rose

small   full splashes 

of truth   mud laced 

with gold   love 

curled wryly as a smile 

catching up 

with your eyes 

it was almost as good 

as too much

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Of dancing (Day 1358)

The relief of dancing

shivering 

in a brassy chill 

on the edge of rapture

drawing near 

while standing still

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Listen, instead, to this… (Day 1357)

What is it asking you 

to do, the wind? 

Restless, yearning, it circles, 

stalks among the trees. 

If you could understand 

its language of whispers, 

murmurs, sighs, how would you 

answer its call? Though garish 

light demands attention, 

there has never been a better 

time than now, tonight, to listen, 

to allow its secrets to move, 

move through, you — because 

the urgent voice 

of a northwesterly wind 

is easier to discern in the dark. 

© 2020 by Hannah Six

Grandmother singing (Day 1356)

Grandmother singing

A desertscape

A goldfinch

A yellow envelope

A bracelet of blue beads

   with a charm that reads: Free

A faux French box

A jewelry bag

A child’s drawing of a bird

   (that child is now a man)

A pink hairbrush

A pink comb

Sunscreen, creams and oils

   (lavender, geranium, melaleuca)

A fitness watch

A granny square

A blue handkerchief 

   (edges hand-rolled and stitched)

The Wanderer

Coming Home

Pride and Prejudice

Radical Acceptance

An amethyst ring

And this.

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

From the depths (Day 1355)

Emerging 

from violet depths 

of writing   words  

often  are few

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

She thought his time had come (Day 1354)

She thought maybe his time had come, at last —

and neither burger nor BP did him in.

His eyes lost focus, and his voice grew thin.

She prayed he would go easy, and go fast.

Imagine consenting to become his wife,

submitting to his undisguised abuse,

ensnared in shame, unable to get loose,

trapped in plain sight, in that unhappy life.

Still, the mountains rise, the valleys sink.

To be set free was an enticing dream,

but she is not fortunate as she seems, though 

trimmed in gold, and draped in silk and mink.

Another term? She can’t see how she’ll cope —

a blue tsunami is her last, best hope.

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Haiku for Day 1353

distant surf bellows

defeated by wind and rain

fog, like silk, obscures

(c) 2020 by Hannah Six

Enough (Day 1352)

Alas, enough! 

Summer’s lush foliage

How can we fight —

cool   dusky groves

how defeat — this

gradually fading   glowing

shape-shifting enemy, 

like October spring

alien to every

one cricket singing himself

common understanding? 

to sleep

© 2020 by Hannah Six

The quiet space (Day 1351)

 

children’s high voices

falling leaves

nearby a couple argues 

again

an emptiness opens

at my feet

a quiet waiting space

tomorrow

laughing  playing  working

together

every breeze  confetti  bright 

against green grass

a crash  a shout  

again

chairs scrape wood

and  on a blue screen

two grown men berate 

each other  and we

sigh  like the breeze  

scattering this 

momentary sadness across 

a carpet of red and gold   

because our waiting 

is nearly over  and the quiet 

space is shrinking 

like ice in warming water

© 2020 by Hannah Six