The Key (Day 180)

The key: Poverty destroys 

sirens, rejects the fluttering,

alluring solutions that 

gyrate, sometimes tediously,

among the more voracious 

fishes in the great freshwater 

aquarium of problem solvers. 

It clips the wings of simple 

answers and do-gooders, and 

blasts Babylonian policymakers

with the furnace breath of

ten thousand dragons, until,

trembling bodaciously, they 

slip backward into plentitude, 

wash the dirt from their hands,

and heave the sanctimonious 

sighs of martyrs and lesser saints.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Amartya Mandal

He Will Take It (Day 178)

You smile and then 

you sulk and then 

you are hungry and then

you resent me and then 

your mood swings 

wild and I 

try to manage this 

and worry 

and think

yes actually it is 

your fault 

i have too much 

right now

now here i am 

in fucking bed again

and what should 

i have been doing

taking care of myself?

and the shame 

i feel is pitch black dark

deep black so 

no one else will see it
then he will take it

then he will lay it out 

on me and

no one else will see it

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Two Lassa With Doctors, 

US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC)

Let Them Eat Cake (Day 177)

Subtly, they slice and serve

Each morsel on a china plate,

Never more than they 

               think we deserve.

So disdainful of us,

               yet they’re sealing our fate.

A few voted them in, 

               we all fund their pay—

In most cases a dire mistake.

Now they collect our money 

               and say:

“Our constituents? Let them eat cake!”

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Cake at Madonna Inn (CA), by Daderot

Know Why? (Day 175)

know why 

you cant hear 

me 

when i say i am 

   in pain? 

because

you 

   want me 

in your 

   goddamn business 

i have tumbled

   before 

into your red hot 

   resentment

and found myself 

bruised purple 

by the sharp edges

   of your 

discontent

well that

   believe me

is one fire escape

i will never

   fall down again

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Derek Jensen (Tysto)

A Painful Two-fer (Day 171)

The Goose-Egg Blues

Oh, you're a long narrow staircase,

And I ain't playin' with you no more.

Yeah, you're a long steep staircase, 

And I ain't playin' with you no more,

'Specially since you threw me 

Headfirst into that door.

After the Fall

Bumps, bruises and a few contusions

Have robbed me of my grand illusions

About using crutches to go downstairs;

So, for now, I'll just embrace seclusion

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Notes:

- I have no idea what's gonng on with the spacing

- Photo of Iowa Capitol Law Library by Jason Mrachina

Four Hours Later (Day 168)

More than four hours later, we emerge, 

squinting into a July afternoon, absorbing 

its heat into blood, fingers, and toes. 

More than four hours and yet we know 

—is this even possible?—less than 

when we arrived. Did they hear what I said? 

No, the thick summary tells me. What I sensed, 

was true. 

While you read your book and simmered in 

a stew of frustration, boredom, helplessness; 

while the aides arranged their upcoming vacation 

days; while I stared at the walls in a haze 

of pain and killers of pain, a few people 

worked, very slowly, at 

not finding answers, not offering a single comfort, 

not understanding the meaning of “cannot stand 

or walk on it”, not making accurate notations.

When all was said and done, we walked away with 

an assurance that a bone I never suspected was 

broken or dislocated is, in fact, intact.

They told me I needed to lose weight—I am a woman, 

after all—then politely, but soundly, dismissed me. 

And that—believe me—was a skill 

at which they were very practiced, indeed.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: A Souvenir, John William Godward, 1920

Little Scissors (Day 158)

 

Little scissors

round-tipped, red 

handles made 

for tiny hands 

to hold

(snip)

make changes 

(snip)

replace 

the small, the weak

the old, the face 

of history,

(snip)

the plan 

     regarding pregnancy

the rules 

     of rape or incest

(snip, snip) 

tiny hands 

make cuts

regardless 

of income 

of need

of age

because

at any stage of life

(snip)

change is value  

(snip)

value is change 

and the unimaginable 

sin of caring: dangerous

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six