Thursday, September 7, 2017

Patience (Day 232)

Collecting damp grass 
clippings on her hands, 
sweet Patience cartwheels 
into the clear 
evening, and nods to 
the butterfly circle. 
Wise, they may be, 
she knows, but excessively 
fond of treacle. Eyeing 
their clutter of clumsy wings, 
she says, to herself: 
“And it shows.” 
In their gossipy klatsch,
the mavens sip tea, 
while catching their friends 
telling lies. 
Fluttering, feigning, reluctant 
to reveal what each knows 
is her own thin disguise, 
they reign over the lawn, 
where Patience is 
yawning, stretched out
beneath a ring of
portly lepidopterans.


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: public domain

Tuesday, September 5, 2017

After the Bookstore Closed (Day 230)

about an hour after 
our local bookstore closed
the sky darkened
to green   the wind came   sideways   
from nowhere   thunder 
racked my house and slam-banged 
around   an old man grumbling   
on a brittle winter day   so like 
human beings   their cultures gathered 
around clouds of voices   raising heat 
and ugliness   the sounds distress me   
my body reflecting   not just words but 
the humid heavy breath of the street   
blowsy   a little hot   they keep saying   
our bright star is exploding   our world 
set ablaze   eyes like deep pools 
of wisdom   and fascist fists are
pummeling my heart   if I can fight this 
I might stop falling into the jade sky   
and wake up warm and safe and dry 
but   on the other hand   we could be 
staring down the inscrutable
barrel of a millennial storm


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: terren

Monday, September 4, 2017

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

Saturday, September 2, 2017

Again, He (Day 227)


Today, the voice
On the radio said
It was a great thing
For everyone to see.
Again, he
Looked in the mirror 
of tragedy,
And could only see 
his own good fortune.


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Original image: Fortepan

Friday, September 1, 2017

The rain, the sturgeon (Day 226)

In the rain the sturgeon wake,
and loll on their cushions of silt, 
whispering about the nervous 
flutters of oncoming winter. 
Fog-stilled boats drift amid 
reflected hillsides, outcrops 
dotted with upside-down sheep 
and leaf-brown streams boring 
into their emerald faces like 
unchecked tears. There, we, 
revolving, hearts stilled with 
wonder, listen to the slowing song 
of two crickets on opposing shores.


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six