When You Rise (Day 397)

When you rise above 

the clouds  say hello 

to the blue for me

memorize its myriad 

hues and shades from 
ice to indigo  tell me if 
you can see the stars 

when you look up or 

if they are hidden by that 
golden light warming 

your flushed cheeks  rest 
a moment on 
the terrible wind 
that bears you aloft 

and look down on 

the soft undulations of 
the sea stretching like 

bleached cotton sheets 
beneath you  only the quilts 

on our shared bed 

can enfold you as softly  
only my arms support you 
with the strength of that 
high gale and 
the roughest tides 
of time we long to sail 
together will quiet when 
you are near again

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: macayran via Pixabay

Half the Battle (Day 272)

When prepared     You’ve fought half the battle

Don’t you             Worry about me, while you’re away

Make your own    Luck, fate, or invention, they’re your’s, this

Day                       Break, these good intentions, the shiny gold trophy.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image of Puerto Rico: The Brandsmen

Before 1980 (Day 235)

Lake-shore picnic lunch

Among beloved strangers

Snowfields in summer

Memories drift, floating home

Spirits caught in ash and stone

In memory of my uncle, Gordon H. Fiske, who passed away this morning.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Lyn Topinka

Indulgence No. 2 (Day 229)

Sirens, my old photos.

Luring me with silvery songs:

“Real love, true, forevermore—”

Leave me wrecked on the reef of Now,

Nightmares of happiness circling.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

I Am Cold Weather (Day 223)

Today I am cold weather   damp 

and wind-chimes   after that picturesque 

and uninteresting summer

     What can I say

     Outside cars read the street like Braille 

     running wet fingertips

     over the night she was buried 

and I climbed into my mother's lap 

and she held me 

and I cried

and then she dipped my fingers 

and toes in warm honey

and brought me upstairs 

and tucked me in to bed again

     Gone now   like summer 

and I am wearing thick woolen sweaters 

and socks to warm  

and I'm in bed

     —warm cat cool sheets—

and I miss the days when everything 

     seemed like it would be all right 

     for a while

and we were so happy 

and wet 

and windblown 

     into that narrow restaurant

     in a gust of leaves

and umbrellas insufficient for 

     an oncoming hurricane

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Roman Boed

Remembering (Day 212)

Sing the robins  silver clouds 

dancing on the ceiling  there 

glancing through my window shrouds 

fairies spin in gentle prayer 

above the moaning  laughing throng

you arrive  fragile and sweet

played dolce  piercing a forte song

a clarinet weeps on a city street

memories dulled with exacting care

dreams worn soft as fine old lace

emboldened  wings beat at the air

sip teardrops  daintily  from my face

outside  a crowd  a protest  singing

inside  one soul  remembering

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: B W Townsend

I Can't Express (Day 208)

Your eyes   I can’t 

express  recall

myself another story 

it’s not always fair 

to see 

where were you

heading to shine 

let me light 

your path

through the forest

at night   how can 

we all exist 

in a world 

so full  so full

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: StockSnap

Lilacs, Vineyard (Day 191)

If everyone listened to lilacs, 

the way she did that 

spring, the world would be 

light as a butterfly, balanced 

on a spiraling tendril in a 

honey-tinted vineyard. 

In the distance, bells tolled 

the hours, rolling over swelling 

hills in round, velvety tones. 

One day, as she leaned 

close to hear their whispered 

secrets, plump purple cluster 

filling her palm, a page of 

wasp’s nest paper alighted on 

her fingertips. The lilacs trembled

while she read, then hung 

their heads and sighed to see her, 

careful and straight, make her way 

across the upturned field, 

toward an aproned woman 

waiting, screen-door balanced 

against one puissant hip.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Valeria Boltneva

We Did It All Wrong (Day 184)

We did it all wrong,

but we didn't mean to.

You, shoes squealing 

sharply, sliding, 

reaching, saving

the day, captured 

in black and white

like a song. 

Later, the whiteness 
of my arms against 
the darkness of 

your skin astonished me

and you—the moon 

turned us a glowing 

twilight shade of blue. 

We danced, sweet 

and slow, and you left 

your ring on my table,

so I’d think of you, 

and I did, 

and I do, you see? 

But that was all then, 

and we did it 
all wrong, didn’t we?

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Note: I was unable to figure out to whom this lovely image should be attributed. Please leave me a comment if you know.

You Come Back To Me (Day 146)

 Katja, on hand-crocheted ripple blanket

In the strong line of my pen, 

you come back to me—

playful, an acrobat, more sure 

of your skill than I, but you

prove yourself, and, high 

above us find a view that 

inspires your frequent high-wire 

displays, much to my dismay. 

In the light of a midnight moon, 

you come back to me—

ghostly presence just beyond 

my toes, leading me through 

darkness on the route I always 

follow, then you take me back 

to bed and perch, a quiet 

presence, near my head, and 

I slip into sleep hearing you

purr, my fingers tangled in 

your luxurious fur. 

In the still moments before I wake,

you come back to me—again, 

alight in the rose-gold morning 

glow, solemn, silly, cherished 

little friend, somehow you 

always know my dreams are 

at an end, my eyes about to open, 

and, mysterious as joy, you’re 

there to meet me, the sweetest 

way to greet another day.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six