Up Late (Day 203)

Last night, we stayed up

late, my companions and I,

lulled into insomnia by

some stark-raving guy. 

Drawn like moths to 

the flickering blue screens

we held, lights on, tethered 

to the world by a handful of

characters, all chattering

away, every line rippling

with anxiety. Journalists,

artists, hucksters and me,

a smattering of fear-mongers 

among us, a meeting 

of minds like and unlike. 

Nonsensical rantings had 

scared us, but by midnight, 

it took effort to care. And that

saturation is the strange stuff 

of nightmares, the creep of 

ambivalence more dangerous

than words.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: by 809499, via Pixabay

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)