Missing (Day 479)

Seduced  falling 

into that pleasure 

relative to pain  

a moment 

of unspooling

unwinding fibers

frayed ends easing 

through hardened 

knot twists

fever-burnt  

prickling 

in cavedark coolth  

buoyant  leaden  

bedded by a body 

unwilling to live  

still  unwilling to 

let go  of life  still 

missing  just missing

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Ophelia, Sir John Everett Millais

Via Wikimedia Commons

Making Hay (Day 471)

The body, befuddled, like a child,

does what it must, strains 

for language, listens to upsetting 

news, lifts and moves amidst clouds 

of dust and veils of heat, fog-filled 

head and unused muscles kicking 

in, as if they haven’t wasted most 

of the past year in bed. It works, 
sweats, bends, groans until 
it does not. Then, at home, at rest, 
an aftermath: poppy-resistant pain, 

sleepless, lingering hours spent 

prone, thirsty, hungry, longing for 

an unmanageable shower, listening 

to this befuddled body taking 

one

single 
breath

In.      

Out.

after another.

And the sun comes up. 
And it’s time

to drink coffee 
and try to do it all

over again. 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: VViktor/Pixabay

Experiment (Day 371)

Aura (Day 349)

Felt your presence 

    in my room 

      this morning, before 

I was fully aware, 

there,

pressing 

        like thumbs 

     against my eyelids, 

  and I knew:   you 

had come 

to spend the day

with me. 

(c) 2018, by Hanneah Six

Underwater Refuge (Day 187)

Underwater refuge

Afternoon light filtered by shades

Slow fan ripples the air

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Afternoon Tea, Charles Bittinger, 1912

Spoons (Day 186)

Be careful how you spend them:

Too many in the morning will 

upend your day. Summer’s 

brilliant sunlight will come 

streaming through your 

windows, find you 

where you hide, 

and set your pale skin 

aglow, inside, there in your

bed. Your plans all scattered 

to the wind, because you needed 

rest instead. Once again, you gave 

them all away, far too early In the day.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six 

(The Spoon Theory is a way to describe myalgic encephalomyelitis [ME], fibromyalgia [FMS], multiple sclerosis [MS] and other ‘fatiguing’ [major understatement, there] autoimmune diseases. Read about it here.)

Image: FaceGuard via Pixabay

In a Daze (Day 173)

Inside, more spacious,

emptier, room

to think. Silence, cool

and dark, a curtain 

drawn against 

the hysteria outside.

Sink into clear air.

Allow. Nothing more

than nothing, simply

exploring each breath.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Amazing image by Andrew Preble 

(@apreble via Unsplash.com)

Persephone in the Afternoon (Day 172)

I can see Persephone 

waving to me

as we pull our way 

toward the opposite shore. 

The crossing is dark,

barely lit by a spark,

that seems to glow

and grow from the deep.

For a moment, I'm blind,

afternoon light floods in

as I struggle to climb

out of sleep. Then again, 

and a whoosh, as our hull 

scrapes the ground—

with a rush we’ve emerged, 

from the night.

Sudden sunlight bursts free,

Yet, squinting, I see 

a dim, but heartbreaking, 

sight—lovely Persephone,

in a vanishing fog, motioning, 

still waving to me.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: The Return of Persephone, Frederick Leighton, 1891

Not Now (Day 166)

There are stories to tell

But not here, not now,

At this time my brain

Won’t participate.

Maybe, when I’ve slept well,

My fog will clear and 

This slow train of thought 

Will accelerate.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

(Image: Le Pont de L'Europe, by Louis Émile Anquetin, 1889)

On Hand-Washing Dishes During a Flare-Up (Day 73)

 

Under the hot water my hands 

feel better   bubbles enfolding

fingers and the muscular
swell at the base
of my thumb   three plates
done   each progressively heavier

tugging my hands 

toward the wide enamel
sink   the soapwater
maelstrom will suck each joint
gently through 

the drain and into the dark 

which eventually   I am told   surges

into the Chesapeake   there a cast
of immature blue crabs 

and a shimmering, darting school
of silversides will kiss
tickle peck nibble 

until nothing 

remains but a puzzle 

of porcelain bones.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Instead (Day 43)

Just now, I thought
There's not a lot
Going on inside
My head.

This realized,
I recognized
The fog within
And said:

I just can't write
A poem tonight,
So I wrote this
Instead.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six


For information about ME/CFS, visit:
http://solvecfs.org/what-is-mecfs/
#MECFS #MillionsMissing