Responsibility (Day 355)

Did you say yes, 

that day? 

Or did you say no?

Did you guess? 

Or did you go under-

ground, where, 

in the dark, you sought 

an answer from among 

yesterday’s ill-begotten 

remembrances? 

Then again, perhaps

you simply looked 

the other way?

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: gladatony/Pixabay

Roy G. Biv, Pt. 2: Orange (Day 320)

The country awoke from its autumnal haze

Exurbs were elated, the suburbs unfazed.

As an old southern dynasty from New York City

Moved into the White House, we drew the world’s pity

Roy hit the ground running, his pen charged with ink,

Signed executive orders faster than he could think.

And the apathy that had infected the land

Dissolved in the face of repeals and bans.

Soon rumors arose of a modern Resistance.

And pussy grabbed back, despite the insistence,

Of a bunch of old White men on Capitol Hill,

That society’s downfall began with The Pill.

In blue-collar cities, and hungry coal towns,

Where the people believed that they’d been let down

By a government in which they barely took part— 

Folks insisted Roy had their best interests at heart.

Still, a question tormented those skilled at detection:

Had Roy slept with the Russians to win the election?

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Note: This is Part Two of a seven-part series. 

You can read Part One here.

Hot Air (Day 318)

Reclaimed by that hot air

Our cool rain enriches the clouds

Fertile land grows arid

Their vast dams newly reinforced 

Water will not trickle down again

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image via Pixabay

Wallflowers (Day 234)

This is what I 

find dismaying:

one year in, we’re 

still replaying 

stories of our 

past golden years 

and gossiping 

about our fears. 

What we need now

is a firm stance:

Wallflowers don’t 

get asked to dance.

Last time we were 

caught unaware—

next round will go

to they who dare.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Emma Frances Logan

The Key (Day 180)

The key: Poverty destroys 

sirens, rejects the fluttering,

alluring solutions that 

gyrate, sometimes tediously,

among the more voracious 

fishes in the great freshwater 

aquarium of problem solvers. 

It clips the wings of simple 

answers and do-gooders, and 

blasts Babylonian policymakers

with the furnace breath of

ten thousand dragons, until,

trembling bodaciously, they 

slip backward into plentitude, 

wash the dirt from their hands,

and heave the sanctimonious 

sighs of martyrs and lesser saints.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Amartya Mandal

Stillness (Day 140)

Photo: Jason Hollinger

Thick layers of stillness drape 

the cornfield's winter stubble,

midnight sky pearly and pale,

her face concealed behind

a veil of crystals dropping

like petals onto the drifts' 

unmarred shoulders with 

barely more than a sigh.

Hushed, the world rests. 

Hushed, we walk, slowly, 

each step ending with

a creak, until we stand 

in the great wide open,

faces turned toward 

the flakes that cling 

like tiny feathers 

to our eyelashes.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Who Knows? (Day 132)

 

Who knows if the lilacs bloom, still, 

underneath my childhood window, 

or if that glass itself remains in place?

Who knows if the fossils fall like rocks 

onto the beach from the face of 

the sandstone cliffs, shells closed 

around their ancient secrets?

I am not so very old—not old at all, 

in fact—but the world that I grew up in

is long gone.

And sometimes when I think of it, I mourn 

the loss of silence, and the world 

I live in now, well, I mourn for this one too, 

maybe more so.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Sad Story (Day 120)

When you say you say nothing 
new in all the best words under 

the sun blazing down like 
the wrath of that golden calf 
you pray to shimmering 
around your head 

a corona of mistruths disinformation 

fake news words we seem 

to have made up especially 

for you are a fox in the henhouse 

 which explains why 

feathers are finally flying 

away far away as fast as you can 

run away from home to some exotic 

land where a lovely girl will bury 

your head in the sand 

they'll hide you and never let 

us find 

you go 

home

and someday when you 

are dead and gone south 

people will sing songs 

about you and your gang 

like that one about DB Cooper 

who hijacked and jumped out 
of a plane only we all thought 
that story was really pretty cool 
he became a folk hero 

but no one is rooting for you

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

They Decide (Day 63)

Tomorrow, They,
in their navy or gray wool,
Ivy-striped ties, and
butter-soft shoes,
They, whose salaries we pay,
will begin to decide
what we may have and
what we may not,
who will be treated and
who, be denied.
Tonight, my neighbors
and I wait to learn whether
we might thrive or, if sick,
go untreated—
and how easily
we might expect
to do so.
Their decision affects
our employees not at all;
we've guaranteed a lifetime
devoid of want or need,
with equal care extended
to their families.
This is how our public
servants will begin
to decide, and
we'll win or lose accordingly,
because we're American,
and we're free
to choose.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six