When the Magic Ends (Day 282)

When the magic 

ends

and the music 

winds down, find 

the one who’s still 

around,

helping you sweep up 

the fairy dust

and 

carrying dishes

to the sink. 

Choose him. 

You may not think 

so now, but he 

is the answer 

to those prayers 

and wishes—

the one 

who stays

after the party,

instead of leaving 

you

to clean up 

the mess

while he follows 

the rest of the crowd.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Wonderlane via Flickr

I Still Smile (Day 265)

I still smile

When i think 

of you, I still feel

the key ring on my 

middle finger, biting into 

the tender neighboring flesh,

the weighty beige phone 

receiver in my hand.

I still see 

your face, tanned

and rosy-cheeked from 

the bitter cold, and how it 

paled beneath that particular 

shade of fluorescent light from 

overhead, drained of color, still 

glowing when, eyes flashing, 

you broke into one of 

your knowing smiles.

I still hear 

you talking, voice low

against the ringing soprano

chorus of crickets, when, on 

a slow night, we might find time 

to talk, to linger indoors, letting cool

air fortify us for our next foray.

I still feel 

the thrill of the walk

—through the dark streets 

echoing with roiling engines, ribbons 

of music, and laughter from the riverbank—

to your door, where my flat, dull evening 

would transmute into fireworks over 

the Vegas Strip, or, if you were out, 

into a cheap 10-watt bulb.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Lasvegaslover

The Sweet Spot (Day 256)

The sameness vast       the sweet spot on the map 

of me alone                    the plans we made 

together gone                an opaque white curtain

and you my future        in a box to carry 

where I go only              snow empty and white

when I look forward     only a shadow of light

hardly a glow and          yet I know it does

I suppose that’s just      the way it goes

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Original image: NairnBairn

Happy Endings (Day 244)

tragic fiction, happy endings:

flying away 

to some extended-stay hotel 

in some guy’s magic land   

where partly sunny ruins the day

the world is cruel business, see? 

sometimes this strikes me funny 

like laughing at a funeral, death 

do us part

happy few go on forever as 

they start, those poor nine-lives cats 

and breeding bunnies, whose tales 

aren't much worth 

    writing about

        what I don't want to be 

            interested in what I think 

I'm trying to get at, to know, is the truth: 

life just feels more real when 

you drink your coffee from a broken cup, 

when dawn wakes up 

to greet you—you—

with the cold dew on your toes

(c) by Hannah Six

Image: aingnamma