Packing Boxes (Day 459)

The things, the things...

Glasses from Long John Silver

which my grandmother saved 

for me

for decades

A doll I’ve had since she and I

wore the same size clothing

Art supplies I use

art supplies I don’t use and 

art supplies I may want to use 

again   someday

And 

   so

      many

          mugs

How they anchor us to the past

How they overwhelm the present

How they obscure what might be

And yet

Some things ask to be released

Others wait  patiently

for me to be ready to hold them

for me to be ready to release them 

for me to be ready 

   to move

       into an unburdened future

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

All Those Beautiful Places (Day 424)

I was there when 

that small warm bundle 

called life dangled limply 

in your arms a load of laundry 

bound for the line or a chilly 

expression of reticence on 

a face once generous 

as grandma’s whipped-cream 

fudge and fresh-from-the-garden 

berries served sunwarm with 

our breakfast every morning 

the artist doesn’t tell she shows
and deserves a snap of the fingers 
for all those beautiful places 

where magically even when 

there is no peace

there is still love

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Blue Fish Fly (Day 206)

Blue fish fly and catfish 

cry, on fence-posts 

beneath an apricot moon.

It’s June, and the world 

is beautiful—in bloom, 

our world is beautiful—

rising from peace, 

like a distant choir, listen 

when the wind shrugs 

her shoulders, the notes 

draped like lace on the trees. 

It’s Monday, the world is 

welcoming us, arms open, 

with a grandmother’s love, 

and maybe the worst is over, 

or almost, and maybe 

you know all the answers, 

things are already better, 

and maybe it’s not so 

frightening, watching 

the shining blue fish fly, and 

hearing the thoughtful catfish 

cry out their poems, 

high on their fence-posts 

beneath the apricot moon.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Kolisberg via Wikimedia