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

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

Like a Hiss (Day 162)

Shhh… Listen 

closely. Be still

and wait. Can you 

hear it? The whoosh

—or is it more

like a hiss,

or a sigh—a stroke

of air, dark and 

clear. Can you 

feel it blowing 

against your face, 

lifting fine hairs 

off your neck 

and temples, 

where salt crystallizes 

when your fiery

skin cools? There 

is an opening, wide

and fading to pitch 

blackness, a gaping

maw, like the mouth 

of a cave, or 

a dragon, exhaling 

and inhaling at 

the same time, a gasp 

of hunger, or an aching 

breath of vast relief.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Hole of the Priest, Parque Nacional dos Campos Gerais, by Danielfotografo

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