How the Poem Gets In (Day 200)

First, the soft sound 

of stocking-footed steps, 

barely a breath on 

the concrete. A whisper, 

a slight change in the quality 

of light raining down 

through windows opened 

wide to capture even 

the shyest rays of sunlight. 

Like a gentle nudge—no, less—

a mellow pressing against 

my side, friendly as 

the family dog, but unknown, 

unfamiliar until now. 

Ears trained on the non-silence, 

straining to hear vague rustlings, 

I look up from my knitting,

blink as if shaken awake from 

a long, dreaming doze, alert 

to the stirred air, the charged 

atmosphere, and welcome my new 

guests, inviting them to sit 

on my velvet sofa, offering 

a fresh pot of tea. Sustenance, 

because the day is young, 

and we have work to do.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Simon Q

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

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

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)