Fishing for Words (Day 723)

Slippery as trout, 

and evasive, they 

won’t come, 

won’t show themselves

in the light of (this) day. 

Deep in the shady pools, 

they turn and hover, 

suspended, expectant,

unwilling to emerge 

into the foreign air 
and, perhaps, die
there, on the page. 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Jacob W Frank/US NPS

Missing (Day 479)

Seduced  falling 

into that pleasure 

relative to pain  

a moment 

of unspooling

unwinding fibers

frayed ends easing 

through hardened 

knot twists

fever-burnt  

prickling 

in cavedark coolth  

buoyant  leaden  

bedded by a body 

unwilling to live  

still  unwilling to 

let go  of life  still 

missing  just missing

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Ophelia, Sir John Everett Millais

Via Wikimedia Commons

Making Hay (Day 471)

The body, befuddled, like a child,

does what it must, strains 

for language, listens to upsetting 

news, lifts and moves amidst clouds 

of dust and veils of heat, fog-filled 

head and unused muscles kicking 

in, as if they haven’t wasted most 

of the past year in bed. It works, 
sweats, bends, groans until 
it does not. Then, at home, at rest, 
an aftermath: poppy-resistant pain, 

sleepless, lingering hours spent 

prone, thirsty, hungry, longing for 

an unmanageable shower, listening 

to this befuddled body taking 

one

single 
breath

In.      

Out.

after another.

And the sun comes up. 
And it’s time

to drink coffee 
and try to do it all

over again. 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: VViktor/Pixabay

Cleaning (Day 467)

You name it, it hurts.

Cleaned my old home ‘til it shone.

Now, for the new one.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: ArtsyBee/Pixabay

Black Coffee in Handpainted Mug (Day 393)

too bitter 

to ignore 

the purr it 

releases  finding 

purchase on 

the porcelain 

glaze  cobalt 

perfection  

devoid of 

the grit and 

fingerprints 

one might expect 

on an everyday

object made 

of clay intricately 

painted by a 

tired-eyed woman 

in a dusty 

crowded room

so far away 

I cannot begin 

to imagine 

the language

she speaks

in her dreams.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Experiment (Day 371)

Aura (Day 349)

Felt your presence 

    in my room 

      this morning, before 

I was fully aware, 

there,

pressing 

        like thumbs 

     against my eyelids, 

  and I knew:   you 

had come 

to spend the day

with me. 

(c) 2018, by Hanneah Six

The Weekend Shows (Day 347)

cold toes in wool socks feet

sweating inside slippers that 

clearly aren’t doing their job   

comforting weight of the cat 

spread across my lap from 

knee to thigh folded and 

draped from side to side like 

a sun-warmed blanket 

knitting needles making a trim 

clicking sound when the tips 

graze and nubbly yarn turning

into fabric as it slips through 

my fingers   spicy floral tea 

growing lukewarm in a pottery 

mug painted by a mystery artist 

in an intricate pattern of blue 

flowers and green leaves that 

remind me the world will not

always remain frigid and gray

conversation on the radio in calm 

public-broadcasting voices so 

familiar they are almost like friends

—the ones I saw every day when 

I lived and worked in a city I loved—

though since That Man took office 

I’ve had to bar even NPR from 

my house during the work-week

because they never stop talking 

about him for an instant from 

Monday to Friday dwelling on 

the most bitter upsetting news

and in that way they aren’t really 

like my old friends at all

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: From Radio World magazine, 1923

via Wikimedia Commons

Under the Weather (Day 323)

Ears ringing like 

a copper kettle: 

Tea time! But no

one is boiling water.

Aching clouds settle 

into bed beneath 

drifts of dreams, 

of coral sand 

and oceans so bright

they hurt your eyes.

One sighs to think

of such things.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

On a Bench (Day 297)

On a gray bench she rests 

with faded hands  

eyes half open to the forest 

at her feet  a blanket 

of pink sand delights her 

senses  rinsed clean by 

pure turquoise 

dreams of Saturdays and 

lazy afternoons floating 

in circles beneath 

a gliding hawk while 

dogs barked and 

distant mowers groomed 

the knotted fringe of day

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: MabelAmber

Difficile (Day 193)

threats (like red threads)

are frequent (text alerts)

and difficult (of hearing)

to identify (with)

and even (out)

to comprehend (one’s own existence)

among (a city of strangers)

the broad spectrum (gray-scale)

of intruders (in the night) 

stealing (tip-toeing about)

confidential (you know, that movie?)

information (freedom of…act)

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Buy This One, Zanzibar, by Rod Waddington

Underwater Refuge (Day 187)

Underwater refuge

Afternoon light filtered by shades

Slow fan ripples the air

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Afternoon Tea, Charles Bittinger, 1912

Spoons (Day 186)

Be careful how you spend them:

Too many in the morning will 

upend your day. Summer’s 

brilliant sunlight will come 

streaming through your 

windows, find you 

where you hide, 

and set your pale skin 

aglow, inside, there in your

bed. Your plans all scattered 

to the wind, because you needed 

rest instead. Once again, you gave 

them all away, far too early In the day.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six 

(The Spoon Theory is a way to describe myalgic encephalomyelitis [ME], fibromyalgia [FMS], multiple sclerosis [MS] and other ‘fatiguing’ [major understatement, there] autoimmune diseases. Read about it here.)

Image: FaceGuard via Pixabay

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)

In a Daze (Day 173)

Inside, more spacious,

emptier, room

to think. Silence, cool

and dark, a curtain 

drawn against 

the hysteria outside.

Sink into clear air.

Allow. Nothing more

than nothing, simply

exploring each breath.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Amazing image by Andrew Preble 

(@apreble via Unsplash.com)

Persephone in the Afternoon (Day 172)

I can see Persephone 

waving to me

as we pull our way 

toward the opposite shore. 

The crossing is dark,

barely lit by a spark,

that seems to glow

and grow from the deep.

For a moment, I'm blind,

afternoon light floods in

as I struggle to climb

out of sleep. Then again, 

and a whoosh, as our hull 

scrapes the ground—

with a rush we’ve emerged, 

from the night.

Sudden sunlight bursts free,

Yet, squinting, I see 

a dim, but heartbreaking, 

sight—lovely Persephone,

in a vanishing fog, motioning, 

still waving to me.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: The Return of Persephone, Frederick Leighton, 1891

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

Not Now (Day 166)

There are stories to tell

But not here, not now,

At this time my brain

Won’t participate.

Maybe, when I’ve slept well,

My fog will clear and 

This slow train of thought 

Will accelerate.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

(Image: Le Pont de L'Europe, by Louis Émile Anquetin, 1889)

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