that’s not the point
sighing she folded
an unmentionable letter
having swum up
and out from under
all those lilies roses
—nothing personal
never regretting
the promises
or the friends
who confused her
with a proper lady
taking measured steps
ever imprisoned
by massive dreams
no offers of help
no hope of renewal
resting on deep
green currents
trusting they would
take her wherever
she needed to be
(c) 2020 by Hannah Six
(Public domain image)
someone who cares
less about rainy days
and old films would be
—the heart of the matter
is this is me asking
if you wanted to
would you know?
would I?
or are we a week of Sundays
slow and easy
and maybe (some day) as sweet
as that feeling you get
when they dim the lights
and you are on the verge
waiting thinking please
leave me tonight
so I might breathe or leave
tomorrow if you can because
some day is one day too late
and before you know it
they will raise the lights again
(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Charles Hermans, Bal Masqué (1880),
oil on canvas, via Wikimedia Commons
