Imagine the elephant’s mouth (Day 354)

Ladies, the surest 

way to a man’s 

heart is through 

a musical. 

I need you to 

tail the bad guys 

while I 

ride on ahead.  

Absurdly amusing, 

how she used 

the pinking shears

today.

A number of 

details in 

the Lincoln Tunnel 

speak to me 

of love.

Imagine, 

the elephant’s mouth

smelling heavily 

of cloves.

Pull over here

for a moment, dear,

won’t you?

(c) 2018 by Hannah Six

Image: Schuetz-Mediendesign/Pixabay

What is there left to say? (Day 291)

What is there left 

to say?

The walls 

   of grief 

   and greed 

were built to last. 

And those of us with 

picks and hammers

failed

to act 

fast enough to

   make a difference.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Click here to learn about gun violence and how you can make a difference.

Image: KariGamb08

In Darkness, He (Day 170)

Often, 

in darkness, he 

sends his dogs 

to dig, to jail, 

or to crop, and 

until they return,

muzzles coated 

with mud and worse, 

he threads 

his needle 

with the guts 

of freedom.   

Headed uphill, 

he believes he is

given to empathy. 

He nods to 

the left  

a motion he wants 

to make, but he insists, 

they

may not skip

the vows 

of trust and loyalty.

In darkness, now, he

aims 

his twisted dream 

at certain angels 

of our better nature,

and tightens

his finger.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Original Image: Benjamin Applebaum

Luminarias (Day 156)

 

Clinquant luminarias twist the heavy

heat,

sending strange spirals of scented 

smoke

climbing lazily toward the dancing

stars

reflected in the water’s tender 

veneer.

From time to time, winds work the

surface,

the way a gentle breath stirs and

lifts 

the silk-fine strands of hair along your

neck

when we whisper together in the living

darkness.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Outside Spearfish, SD (Day 149)

 

Photo: Black Hills Wild Horse Sanctuary

In the hills outside 

Spearfish, she turned 

her back 

on the way he 

held Belle Fourche,

like pinto ponies,

black and white, grazing 

in his hand. He motioned 

to her, but she shook 

her head, looked away, 

and said: 

“I used to believe,

when I was a girl, 

that so long as we 

had horses, the world 

would be okay. I wished 

for a Palomino 

back then, but now, 

my tastes 

have changed...”

Lifting his hand

to shade his eyes,

he couldn’t see how 

the sun caught 

his ring. An amethyst 

haze dimmed the valley, 

which stretched out 

beyond their ledge. 

Blue-sky eyes 

now cloud-rimmed,

his shoulders fell 

with an audible breath.

“We don't need 

to wait for answers,” 

he said, “Living so 

close to the edge.” 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Will There Be a Happy Ending? (Day 147)

 

Will there be a happy ending

this time? Will we win

because good always does?

If we can’t hear you,

we can’t see you—

maybe you’re not real.

Can you help us? Will you 

hurt us? Tell us how you feel.

Our hats have always been 

the whitest, spurs have always 

been the brightest, but 

you’re their dark horse and

they fight us everywhere 

we turn. So tell us, 

will there be a happy ending,

or is the ending just beginning?

How can we make sure 

that the good guys win?

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: The Herd Quitter." Oil C.M. Russell (1864–1926), Montana Historical Society MacKay Collection, Helena, MT

Stillness (Day 140)

Photo: Jason Hollinger

Thick layers of stillness drape 

the cornfield's winter stubble,

midnight sky pearly and pale,

her face concealed behind

a veil of crystals dropping

like petals onto the drifts' 

unmarred shoulders with 

barely more than a sigh.

Hushed, the world rests. 

Hushed, we walk, slowly, 

each step ending with

a creak, until we stand 

in the great wide open,

faces turned toward 

the flakes that cling 

like tiny feathers 

to our eyelashes.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

They Decide (Day 63)

Tomorrow, They,
in their navy or gray wool,
Ivy-striped ties, and
butter-soft shoes,
They, whose salaries we pay,
will begin to decide
what we may have and
what we may not,
who will be treated and
who, be denied.
Tonight, my neighbors
and I wait to learn whether
we might thrive or, if sick,
go untreated—
and how easily
we might expect
to do so.
Their decision affects
our employees not at all;
we've guaranteed a lifetime
devoid of want or need,
with equal care extended
to their families.
This is how our public
servants will begin
to decide, and
we'll win or lose accordingly,
because we're American,
and we're free
to choose.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

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