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

Experiment (Day 371)

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

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

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)