In a Crowd (Day 885)

I was not lonely

    alone   it took two

to make me so   sometimes

more   whole cities

    synchronized   crowds

        choreographed   precise

            clockwork movements

highlighting the quiet

in which I moved   

    enfolded   silent   

in their midst   alone I was 

not lonely   usually   it took 

    you to make me so

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Public Domain Pictures

Missing our days (Day 350)

Growing older, is it 

as often about regret 

as it seems?

Nostalgia like an ache, 

missing our days and

our dreams because 

we cannot remember 

how to live 

the way children do? 

Trust me, 

it’s harder 

and easier than 

you know, spending 

your days missing 

other days, when 

all along your roots 

are cracking 

granite, seeking 

sustenance, sinking 

deep into your loamy soil, 

until you are 

bound

to your own time. And 

maybe that is the definition 

of wisdom.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: MaxPixel

No Reason (Day 341)

When she feels unnecessary,

no reason for the oatmeal 

steaming in her bowl at breakfast, 

each plump blueberry, reclining 

in the gore of its own purple juices 

reminding her of the uselessness 

she senses under the thick cover 

of her life, the way her cat senses 

her feet beneath the quilts when

she climbs into bed, pouncing 

exactly where her unmoving toes 

are hidden, his sharp claws 

drawing tiny specks of blood that 

dry and darken on her pale skin. 

She knows it’s silly, allowing the cat 

to continue his nightly, slightly 

sadistic ritual, but when bedtime 

arrives, she does not chide him, 

because the game brings him joy, 

and this she feels, without actually 

thinking the words, makes her 

necessary, gives her reason enough 

to set her alarm for the next morning.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Twice as Cold (Day 327)

There, stern water, gray 

as iron, and twice as cold

—boldness froths like 

whitecaps at your telling, 

yarns of hard-won wisdom 

beat black pearls for treasure, 

chests of gold, hard-hearted 

gems for warmth, their value 

neither won nor sold, 

nor useful when you’re growing 

old with no delightful company 

to make you laugh until you cry, 

to warm your sheets when 

bitter cold creeps beneath 

your unsealed door.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Wolfgang.Mller54

All That (Day 254)

He shouldn’t undo all 

the trees, hears loons 

downstream, calling 

to his imagination, 

shallow beginnings in 

the leaves’ gilded edges. 

It was the hottest 

year he’d known, 

like Hell’s south side, 

none of the geese 

have flown, but that’s 

fake news. Like back 

when we cried for more 

butter on our bread, 

they couldn’t hear us. 

Our lives were just too 

small for all that.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Nomeato

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

Chrysalis (Day 220)

From all sides 

beleaguered  he curls inward 

sea anemone  protecting 

its tender center  

chrysalis  undefended  vulnerable 

somehow valiant in pure 

inevitability  facing down storms  

exposed  yet diffident  

his strategy  detachment 

rolled and coiled 

in deepest dark 

in singular solitude  it begins 

in a crystal spark 

a listless centering  elemental 

listening will be his 

salvation  intuition  the springtime of 

his moist-winged fluttering  

carried aloft 

by a grateful current

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: msandersmusic

After I Left (Day 215)

One week after 

I left, I lay down

on the floor 

on a borrowed futon cushion 

in my new apartment 

in a building that used 

   to be a paper factory 

there were no sheets on my bed

there were no dishes in the kitchen 

there were no curtains on the windows

there were no books on the shelves 

there were no shelves 

there were no lamps

what was there 

was a blue candle 

   with three wicks

   in a wide-mouthed jar 

and a goldfish named Cal, 

   because I loved Cal Ripken,

   baseball hero with eyes like ice

   and a whole lotta heart  

that night, 

after work

after running up 

   the building’s stairs

after blowing out 

   each wick, I lay 

on the floor 

in the dark

and when the demons arrived, 

as expected, right on time,

I closed my eyes 

and listened 

to Cal, sorting through 

the gravel in his bowl, 

sucking up each pebble 

and spitting it out

plink…plink…plink 

and was glad for the company

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Bowl of Goldfish, by Childe Hassam, 1912

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

Singing Alouette (Day 196)

singing Alouette   unaware 

of the threat behind the rolling words 

which   one day   she’ll wish she could 

forget   when the plucking of the little bird 

disturbs her brave heart   disrupts her 

tender soul   a bower of deep green 

dreams   hidden high among the pears  

seated on a V   longing for admittance 

to a world she does not know   for questions

proving what her answers show

pushing back a darkness she knows well  

a slippery pet  claws at her family tree

reckless   overwhelmed   she takes a stand

determined not to let her feelings show

she plants her feet   a warrior   sword at hand     

and stares down her fire-breathing foe

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

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.

Artifacts (Day 161)

 

They keep 

adding up,

the moments, and 

the words to 

describe them, 

and I carry them, 

like winter,

like my sister’s piggybank,

like what happened 

that night

at 42nd and Baltimore.

I carry them, 

tucked deep inside 

my pocket, until I find 

someplace warm and safe 

and comfortable 

where I can take 

them out to examine,

one by one, holding each 

up to the light, 

turning it,

like a mysterious artifact,

this way

and that.

(c) 2017, By Hannah Six

Photo: Marrakesch, In den Souks, by Giggel

What You Do [with ME] (Day 131)

Violet-tailed Sylph, by Michael Woodruff

You read and you listen,

to old books and new podcasts;

you need something different.

You rely on the radio,

for company and staying in touch;

the best are weekend shows.

When it's rainy and gray

you don't mind like you once did

it breaks up the sunny days

You long for the forests

and hiking on steep rocky trails—

but still have the dawn chorus.

You strive to slow down,

it is harder than it sounds;

life goes on all around.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six


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Lonely From The Inside (Day 49)

The body knows 

lonely from the inside, 

bone deep:

ice-cold toes in the midst

of summer, 

or that odd gnawing 

hunger that comes on a few 

hours after Thanksgiving 

dinner. In the morning,

the body knows

it as a hollowness,

an echoing empty house

in which someone was 

supposed to have been 

living. On the outer rim

of sleep, the body knows

lonely so deep and all

consuming that, instead 

of reeling away in fright,

the two embrace, 

the feeling pulled up

and around like 

a comforter 

on a winter night. 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six