After the scores were tallied
they dug deep into a glowing pit
and exhumed a crackling pig
dissociated from the horrors
of refined cuisine the politest
among us averted their eyes
pretending indifference guests
began to queue plates in hand
admiring laughing salivating
each harboring a secret fascination
with the crisp brown skin
the succulent twist of tail
though it was understood that
the choicest cuts were reserved
for those who paid most
ate least and departed early
(c) 2021 by Hannah Six
One of those white-sky
days subtly altered reined
in longing to be out
the blank ground marred
by footprints and iridescent
shadows trailing visitors
long gone is summer
memory or dream only
time drifting lazily will tell
(c) 2020 by Hannah Six
do your sleep-flushed cheeks
rest on a blue silk sea
when you rise as you will
above time’s roughest tides
do you long for fields of
softly-pleated clouds or perhaps
the dancing stars distract you
from the distance
you have sailed
how far you are from the shore
you with a shrug
unfamiliar until now
thin as kite tails
a wink say never
straining to hear
centuries of paradise
ears trained on every hour
wondering at the music
of rain falling
through the night
like stars
like a scattering —
half-remembered notes
from a nearly-forgotten song
(c) 2020 by Hannah Six
One white butterfly
flickering among bare branches
no, it is merely a half-leaf
catching the sun as it falls
for a fleeting moment, though,
spring was more than a promise
and the green-gold world
seemed to have come alive again
(c) 2020 by Hannah Six
Flock of robins singing
into a November landscape
as if it were spring
Translucent trail of sepia
ink flowing through
a gold-nibbed pen
Once-green hills glowing violet
in winter’s shifting light
Understanding
they are no longer
Loose-limbed weight
of a purring cat kneading
a woolly blanket
Single candle flame flickering
through colored glass
Sounds of children playing
outdoors late
into a summer evening
Knowing you always will
How a song leaves you
reeling with the sense
of a time and place long past
(c) 2020 by Hannah Six
Please don’t say
winter
to me yet.
Countless leaves
still cling
to sycamore & oak.
Robins receive
the sun
with pale praise,
and I am
unwilling
to celebrate goodbye.
(c) 2020 by Hannah Six
Can’t stay here.
Can’t go there.
Nothing in.
Nothing out.
It’s enough
to make you
wonder
sometimes
if it will be
worth it
in the end.
As the clouds
began to tear
we glimpsed
the new moon
and in silence
wondered at
the brilliance
of our fortune
we hoped
for tolerance inclusion
for calm peace
for kindness empathy
we dreamed
of equality justice
of sincerity honesty
of independence freedom
we struggled resisted
we waited persisted
we won prevailed
as love will
as love must
so must we
© 2020 by Hannah Six
When he closed it,
the cover whispered: Hush.
So he allowed himself
to float
on the cool blue surface
of the evening. This ending
was meant to be
savored.
© 2020 by Hannah Six
no sound in quiet rivers
like the calling of your name
no silent harmonies
no pale winds
singing through parted windows
loosening your hold and
interrupting your thoughts
one drop at a time the rain falls
and wild things grow
neither believing nor laughing
at this setting sun knowing
there will be light enough
© 2020 by Hannah Six
You get used to someone else’s company their quiet presence
in the garden a warm indentation in their pillow
when you wake at night & they are gone you get used to
the scent of their shampoo lingering on post-shower steam
the vulnerability of socks curled inward on themselves
strewn haphazardly in the vicinity of the hamper
you get used to the sound of another person’s breath
even when it is impossible to hear & the possibility that
they might come to you at any time with a piece of news
too interesting to hoard to their mail littering the table
the coolness of their coat when they come indoors
after shoveling snow the crackling of a secret butterscotch
& whispered nonsense of late-night dreams (when you stay up
reading later than you should) the sense of will be
& of has been a cup of coffee cooling on a kitchen counter
& the subtle click of a discreetly-closed door
© 2020 by Hannah Six
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
Snow will fall and fall
Enfolding this bristling world
Silently yielding
Softening acute edges
Clarifying the complex
© 2020 by Hannah Six
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
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
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
slowly uncurling
smooth pink shell warmed by the sun
irresistible
© 2020 by Hannah Six
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
