Winter Cafe (Day 314)

The table where we used to sit is empty, 

bare but for a handful of citrus-hued leaves, 

uncomfortable chairs that never supported 

our backs or, frankly, our behinds, have been 

turned upside down, stacked one on the other 

and chained together like escaped convicts 

in an old movie--in it together until they are 

killed, recaptured, or freed by a stranger 

with an axe. You may have noticed, I am not 

being terribly romantic. There were days when 

seeing our favorite place this desolate would 

have depressed me. Perhaps, I would think 

of a simile, about how the sidewalk cafe was 

like our life together, unloved, abandoned, 

or some such. But today, looking at the bereft, 

rain-spattered tables, feeling the damp chill 

creep from the sidewalk into my toes, I think 

only this: I am different now. And I am glad.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image via Pixabay

I Tell You No (Day 238)

Because I tell you no, I tell you yes. 

You only have to guess to see me smile. 

Once in a long while, you might let me down. 

I’ll come around again, though if you wait. 

Too late is not the same as yesterday. 

And now the birds have flocked, and now have flown. 

The days have grown so short, and cold, and gray. 

You say I told you no, but I said yes.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Pixabay

Indulgence No.3 (Day 231)

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image of cake & coffee by Michael Stern

Indulgence No. 2 (Day 229)

Sirens, my old photos.

Luring me with silvery songs:

“Real love, true, forevermore—”

Leave me wrecked on the reef of Now,

Nightmares of happiness circling.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

I Am Cold Weather (Day 223)

Today I am cold weather   damp 

and wind-chimes   after that picturesque 

and uninteresting summer

     What can I say

     Outside cars read the street like Braille 

     running wet fingertips

     over the night she was buried 

and I climbed into my mother's lap 

and she held me 

and I cried

and then she dipped my fingers 

and toes in warm honey

and brought me upstairs 

and tucked me in to bed again

     Gone now   like summer 

and I am wearing thick woolen sweaters 

and socks to warm  

and I'm in bed

     —warm cat cool sheets—

and I miss the days when everything 

     seemed like it would be all right 

     for a while

and we were so happy 

and wet 

and windblown 

     into that narrow restaurant

     in a gust of leaves

and umbrellas insufficient for 

     an oncoming hurricane

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Roman Boed

Two Haiku, Two Senryu (Day 124)

Photo: Marabuchi

Birds versus squirrels 

Locked in eternal battle 

Sharing the same tree

***

Rabbit stretches tall

Craning his neck to nibble

Sweet, young poppy leaves

***

Friday: hot humid

Saturday: sweater weather

Mid-Atlantic May

***

Chic woman with scarf

Insouciantly knotted

matches her flowers

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six