At the End of the Pier (Day 194)

Sitting at the end of the pier, 

you and I shared a coke, 

our feet dangling in midair. 

We inhaled the faint mist rising 

from the water, which flowed 

with the tide, left-to-right, below us, 

and imagined boats drifting past, 

carrying people we glimpsed 

on the news, people without 

homes, some running from, some 

running toward. Then, we fell silent, 

as children do, who, like refugees, 

carry little sense of power, helpless 

in the face of pain and despair, 

never realizing that we, hands tied, 

offered more than the entire city behind 

us—hearts in our hands, ready to give 

or to take, as the situation required. 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Alcatraz Sunrise, by Tony Webster

A Rather Angry Rant (Day 189)

Fair warning: This poem is neither lovely nor politically correct. Because today, I am giving myself permission to speak bluntly. That's one of the benefits of—for now—not being held to the standard of objectivity.

A Rather Angry Rant

And we sit, 

and we watch

while they take,

and expect us

to give them 

so much 

for the sake

of a law 

that doesn’t

protect us all.

Build a wall?

Ban those souls

over there?

You don’t care.

It’s not freedom

or justice

it’s the same 

old prejudice, 

and we, 

the majority, care 

for democracy.

Your wall is 

just smoke,

and your ban 

is a joke, like 

your klannish

reactions to

progressive actions.

We’ll win 

in the end

and rather 

than bend, 

you’ll break, and 

we’ll sweep up 

the shards of 

your sorry ass,

and dump you in

the compost heap

with the rest 

of the trash 

you keep company 

with. Then we—

the brave 

and the free— 

will get back 

to the task 

of erasing 

your legacy 

of cruelty, 

besmirching 

your name for 

all history.

You’re rotten

to the bone,

and you will

end alone and

forgotten.

We’ll see to it

you steaming

clumps of...

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Brocken Inaglory

When I Think of You (Day 185)

When I think of you

I see myself   

stretched out 

   under the same sun

in the same field   glowing 

golden just like you 

and when I look up 

my sky is also blue 

   how strange 

      we are   believing 

it’s true   that just because

   we’re far away 

      from each other

we aren’t the same though 

   when you look in a mirror, 

   when you think of me 

       you will see 

                     yourself

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Note: No, that’s not a photo of the midwestern US! 

It’s a beautiful field in Azerbaijan.

Original photo: Havin_HP 

A Current Stirs (Day 181)

Sinuous eels flutter.

A current stirs, 

their solemn eyes peer.

Slim darting fish meld 

like sequins with sunlight, 

flashing through 

the dimpled swells.

Bemused, they swarm 

—angels swooping

toward vengeance, 

astonishing and fast.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Detail of painting by Raphael (public domain)

Abuelita, June 2017 (Day 179)

We crossed the border in

a rusted Falcon, on a wheel 

that was starting to go flat. 

A fountain of dust spouted 

behind us, tinting the sky  

terra-cotta where the sun shone,

Powdering our car, skin, food 

with an ancient, ubiquitous grit,

metallic on our tongues, like blood.

Whenever we passed another 

car, truck, any sign of civilization, 

she ducked and covered herself. 

Before the stark mountains, a plain, 

monotony interrupted here and there 

by run-down, sun-broken signs. 

We drove through darkness, wide 

open to the desert air, vibrating

under a million spinning galaxies.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Rennett Stowe