Wednesday, November 06, 2013
Sunday, November 03, 2013
Winter Verse (#215!)
It's winter
And my toes are cold
It's winter
And the coffee's brewed
It's winter
And the does grow bold
Searching for a meal
Where sweet green grass once grew
It's winter
And the frost has formed
It's winter
And the fire's bright
It's winter
And your hands are warm
In the brown wool gloves
I knit for you last night
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Monday, October 21, 2013
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Monday, September 16, 2013
Needlework
Needlework
Needle tip dips in and out of fabric,
Catching the light,
Drawing up stitches with a rasping tug--
Side by side, like satin,
Peppered, like a delicacy,
A garnish to be consumed sparingly,
Strewn, like newly mown grass--
Lemon-butter silk, raspberry soufflé perle,
Terracotta cotton, fine as a web,
Linen the color of cocoa
With whipped cream. Sweetly
Suggestive of traditional
Feminine wiles and fragile cups
Poured and passed
With secret smiles, and
An occasional glancing
Brush of trembling fingertips.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
It's a fiber arts post! Yay!
Do you read Spin-Off Magazine? I often like to page through and see what's new...
In the Summer 2013 issue, there's an article about "Sprang" weaving, which includes instructions for a project. It was intriguing, but I had trouble envisioning the process. So, like every good student, I looked it up on You Tube...
That's where I found this lovely, straightforward tutorial. If you're interested in learning something new -- portable weaving that doesn't cost a fortune to start! -- check it out. My fingers are now itching to begin. Now where did I put that old picture frame...?
Let me know what you think... Are you going to give it a try?
BTW: I love this woman's relaxing voice! She's the Bob Ross of weaving ;)
In the Summer 2013 issue, there's an article about "Sprang" weaving, which includes instructions for a project. It was intriguing, but I had trouble envisioning the process. So, like every good student, I looked it up on You Tube...
That's where I found this lovely, straightforward tutorial. If you're interested in learning something new -- portable weaving that doesn't cost a fortune to start! -- check it out. My fingers are now itching to begin. Now where did I put that old picture frame...?
Let me know what you think... Are you going to give it a try?
BTW: I love this woman's relaxing voice! She's the Bob Ross of weaving ;)
Friday, September 06, 2013
What a tease!
Strange
how the days slow down
as they grow shorter
Strange
how the light grows warmer
as the temperatures fall
Strange
how...
Want to read the rest of this poem? C'mon over to http://www.hannahsix.blogspot.com
That's where my daily poetry lives now!
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Looking for Poems?
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
My poems have a new home!
Looking for today's poem? You'll find it on my
poetry-and-writing blog: http://hannahsix.blogspot.com/
From now on I'll be posting my poetry and other writing-related content on
Please come on over--and be sure to bookmark the new site! I cherish your
company on this crazy, year-long poetic journey...
Thank you for visiting, reading--and for returning!
Hannah
Poetry/Writing: http://hannahsix.blogspot.com/
Knitting/Crochet: http://knitsix.blogspot.com/
PS.
This move means knitters will see some knitting content here on Knit*Six soon :)
Monday, August 26, 2013
New home for poetry!
Hello!
Starting today (Monday, Aug. 26), I will post my daily poems on my poetry-and-writing blog: http://hannahsix.blogspot.com/
Please come on over and don't forget to bookmark the new site! (
I enjoy your company on this crazy, year-long poetic journey...
Thank you for visiting, reading, and returning!
Hannah
Poetry/Writing blog: http://hannahsix.blogspot.com/
Knitting/Crochet blog: http://knitsix.blogspot.com/
PS.
This move means knitters may actually see some knitting content here on Knit*Six soon :)
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Poem 145: Swoon
Dear readers:
Starting tomorrow (Monday, Aug. 26), I will only be posting my daily poems on my writing blog: http://hannahsix.blogspot.com/ Please bookmark the site now, so you can keep on keeping me company on this crazy year-long journey...
This move means knitters may actually see some knitting content here on Knit*Six soon :)
Thank you for visiting, reading, and returning!
And now, on to the poetry...
Starting tomorrow (Monday, Aug. 26), I will only be posting my daily poems on my writing blog: http://hannahsix.blogspot.com/ Please bookmark the site now, so you can keep on keeping me company on this crazy year-long journey...
This move means knitters may actually see some knitting content here on Knit*Six soon :)
Thank you for visiting, reading, and returning!
And now, on to the poetry...
SWOON
come sink down with me
let the spring sponge of the earth
absorb your dreams
where we lie, in a
field of blood-red butterflies
heady with delight
in a night of our own making
© 2013, by Hannah Six
Saturday, August 24, 2013
Poem 144: Like Dew
Close enough to kiss
Smoke entwined in pas de deux
Stars falling like dew
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Dear readers:
Starting Monday, Aug. 26,, I will post my daily poems on my writing blog: http://hannahsix.blogspot.com/
Please bookmark the new poetry site now, so you can keep on keeping me company on this crazy year-long journey...
This also means knitters may be seeing some knitting content here on Knit*Six soon :)
Thank you for visiting, reading, and returning!
Hannah
Friday, August 23, 2013
Poem 143: Sloe Dance
Sloe Gin Fizz with lime.
Coral lipstick on the glass.
Sax breathes her a dream.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
With appreciation to Ken Peplowski for his heartachingly gorgeous recording of "It's a Lonesome Old Town."
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Poem 142: Thimbleful
She of the velvet existence--
lonely for
the camomile beach and
the creak and sway of old, moored boats and
her thimbleful of unhurried joy--
laughed pleasantly, ignoring
the old missing that pleaded
and tightened, her fingers
clutching a long-missing tube
of Prussian Blue paint.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Dear readers:
My poetry will soon appear on its own (non-knitting) blog! After this week, I will post my daily poems at http://hannahsix.blogspot.com/
Please bookmark the new site now, so you can keep on keeping me company on this crazy journey...
Thank you for reading!
Hannah
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Poem 141: Toward Afternoon
sloping sloping off the bed
watery flowers sliding down
the window, lilac and gray
and green slick as a baby
in bathwater sloping and
rolling toward morning like
dead weight praying that
they come alive again
when the gray seeps through
the blinds like water spreading
in a pool of daybreak sloping
sloping toward afternoon
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Dear readers:
My poetry will soon appear on its own (non-knitting) blog! After this week, I will post my daily poems at http://hannahsix.blogspot.com/
Please bookmark the new site now, so you can continue keeping me company on this crazy journey...
Thank you for reading!
Hannah
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Poem 140: Cinnamon Day
Dear readers:
My poetry will soon appear on its own (non-knitting) blog! After this week, I will post my daily poems at http://hannahsix.blogspot.com/
Please bookmark the new site now, so you can continue keeping me company on this crazy journey...
Thank you for reading!
Hannah
CINNAMON DAY
A slant of cinnamon sun,
A shiver of frost on the lawn,
The kind of day that calls
For an apple-red jacket and
A brisk, windblown
Country walk,
Or a New England college
Football game,
Woodsmoke in the air,
Brown leaves crumbling
Underfoot, icy, still nights
Flecked with stars--
Shards of light
pricking the dark--
And cider steaming on the stove
Ladled into handmade mugs,
Warming hands and home
And air heavy with
Heady scents of autumn--
Sun-warmed wool, damp earth
And curbs lined with armies
Of dark bags full to bursting
With summer's leftovers.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Monday, August 19, 2013
Poem 139: Softly
Today, I know better
Than to expect a
Sweet goodnight and
Sleep tight when I reach
Inside and stub my fingertips
On the cold hard bottom
Of the jar. Only crumbs.
Warm milk, then, and
Something mild,
Saltines, perhaps, or hot,
Buttered white-bread toast.
Tomorrow the cayenne,
And ginger, bitter chocolate
And tart cherry pie. The most
I can hope for now is
A sweet breeze through
My veiled window and
A light burning softly
Beside my cool pillow.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Poem 138: Campbell's Soup on the Stoop
In honor of Bad Poetry Day
(Aug. 18, 2013)
All alone with my thoughts
And a can of Campbell's soup
I light up a cigarette
And take it with my dinner
Out onto the stoop.
Sitting there I stare out
Into thin air
And think about the way
I'd wished my life
Might have been.
Still, I am happy enough
With my Chunky Sirloin and
My brew, in the shade,
On my stoop, being watched by
My snoopy landlady,
Because I don't care
What she thinks.
I know I have everything
A man needs to be happy.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Poem 137: Thief
Poem 136: Girl on the Dock
At the end of the L-shaped dock,
Where summer-browned children,
Yelping, jump into murky green,
A girl. Alone, book in lap,
She sits facing shore, leaning
On one arm, pale, flawless
Legs curled to her left
In a studied pose:
"Starlet at leisure,"
Inspired, no doubt, by fantasies
Of old-Hollywood glamour
And intrigue. Soft as a petal,
A lake-borne breeze ruffles
And lifts the smooth, caramel
hair from her shoulders.
She looks up, as if surprised,
From the page she has not turned
In half an hour, then returns
To her almost-convincing display
Of superb focus, careful
Not to notice the sweating,
Brightly-suited crowd scattered,
Like pebbles, on the shore.
We are her contrasting background, Setting off her cool, milky beauty
To perfection. She is lovely,
In her shorts and
Knotted checked blouse,
Sunglasses and sandals,
Pretending to read,
Watching herself play--unaware
Of how obviously--the leading role
In the movie in her mind.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Friday, August 16, 2013
Poem 136: First Cup
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Poem 135: Sherpa
the utter ice of it, the white
white broken black and blue
and void unstoppable gaping
maws sucking souls into unfathomable
frozen rattling death breath,
the beating beating beating of feet
and hearts and minds and the
clattering lungs and bits of gear
dangling randomly from ribs
and packs his is too light
because his is too heavy
the cold the cold the
cold razor blade slicing off lips
and tongues and toes and ears
nothing to hear anyway and
the wet the sickly sweet smell
of wet always wet and
light pack overbearing assuming
ha ha ha in the face
of majesty tramping over virgin
snow and humanity so disposable
unseen unheard a herd
of silent keepers kept
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Image: http://goo.gl/JNjseS
Note: Today's poem was inspired by this fascinating interview with Grayson Schaffer, a senior editor and writer for Outside magazine, who wrote an article about Sherpa guides on Mt Everest: http://goo.gl/RhGT3T
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Monday, August 12, 2013
Poem 133: Lessons Learned
I used to think it mattered,
but it doesn't.
I used to think I needed,
when I wanted.
I used to trust that people
really meant it.
I used to think I would,
but I won't.
I used to think I'd love it,
but I hate it.
I used to think I couldn't,
but I can.
I used to think the whole
world was watching.
I used to think I cared,
but I don't.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Poem 132: The Keeper
Turning from the stove,
Iron skillet in hand,
He flashed
Her a glittering smile.
Strong coffee was brewed;
He poured her a mug,
And told her to sit
For awhile.
She closed her eyes, "Happy
as a clam," she thought,
Cheerfully mellow
And mild.
And a waterfall of notions
Surged in her mind:
This catch
Must not return
To the wild.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
PS. My challenge was to use all of the following words in a poem: smule, glittering, clam, cheerfully, waterfall
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Poem 131: Sleep Me
Sleep me, close
My eyes and rest me
Savagely, surrender me
And wrap me in
Unthinking swells of
Indigo unconsciousness
Sleep me, slip me
Into a nest of
Qiviut clouds
Downy and warm as
Primeval loam
Sleep me, sink me
In sea-glass
Shards of silence
That cut through the
Thinking thinking thinking
Aloft, sleep me home
Under, drift down
Sun-slanted leagues
And layers of tranquil
Slumber, peace of
Mind, the gap
Between has
And will is deep, so
Sleep me sleep me sleep
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Poem 130: Puppy
Puppy in a car
Parking lot on sunny day
Owner needs training
(c) Hannah Six
A study by the Stanford University School of Medicine showed that temperatures inside cars can rise dramatically even on mild days. With outside temperatures as low as 72 degrees, researchers found that a car's interior temperature can heat up by an average of 40 degrees within an hour, with 80 percent of that increase in the first 30 minutes. A cracked window provides little relief from this oven effect. The Stanford researchers found that a cracked window had an insignificant effect on both the rate of heating and the final temperature after an hour.
(Source: King 5 - Seattle News)
P.S. No worries... Animal Protection soon arrived on the scene :)
Friday, August 09, 2013
Poem 129: Some Old Song
At the pink of the day
The light lures my thoughts astray
And the old times still seem
Fresh as falling dew
Somewhere far off a band will play
While silk-draped couples sway
And once again I'm with you
Twilight falls like a veil
As my reverie grows pale
And the jasmine sweetly
Puts the day to bed
All the dancers have wandered off
Your footsteps, too, grow soft
Night falls as I walk away.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Wednesday, August 07, 2013
Poem 128: Early-birds
Tuesday, August 06, 2013
Poem 127: Difficult, Pt. Two
Monday, August 05, 2013
Poem 126: So Happy
An astonishing cocktail
of sunlight and warmth
is lavished on
our cool and misty world
today. We walk around, smiling
like people in-the-know,
and say
Can you believe this heat?
Days ago,
when it rained,
we came out of our houses
and scowled at the sky.
Can you believe how cold it is?
And we told each other how,
when it warmed up
again, we would be
so happy.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Sunday, August 04, 2013
Poem 125: Bound
Swaddled in
my threadbare blanket
of weakness and pain,
I arrange myself in bed
again, and watch
the friendly, old world
unfold, from a distance.
(c) 2013 by Hannah Six
"ME is a serious, disabling and chronic organic (i.e. physical not mental) disorder. ME has been classified by the World Health Organisation (ICD 10 G 93.3) as a neurological illness affecting approximately 200,000 individuals within the UK. Of that number, approximately 25% of those affected will go on to develop severe ME which is an extremely debilitating illness, sometimes lasting for years, in some cases, even decades, often rendering the sufferer completely housebound, wheelchair & bedbound and dependent upon carers for their everyday needs. The Chief Medical Officer’s Report on the subject of CFS/ME (Chronic Fatigue Syndrome/Myalgic Encephalomyelitis) issued in January 2002 recognises that “CFS/ME should be classed as a chronic condition with long term effects on health, alongside other illnesses such as multiple sclerosis and motor neurone disease."
Source: http://www.investinme.org/faq-1.htm
Saturday, August 03, 2013
Poem 124: Welcome Guests
The house
was dim,
the day, bright.
When the door
opened,
you quickly stepped
into the light
and closed it
with a click,
locking the long night
inside.
Another door
opened
as you stood
blinking
on the dazzling sidewalk,
waiting to regain
your sight.
Unafraid, you
entered and left it
open wide
for the autumn air,
the honeyed sunlight,
those sweet old songs,
and all the other
welcome guests
you knew
would come along.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Friday, August 02, 2013
Thursday, August 01, 2013
Poem 122: Enemy Lines
Behind the door, in the dark,
you lurk, more frightening
than those childhood monsters
my mother conquered
with a click of the light switch.
For decades, you possessed me,
altered me, held me prisoner,
brought me to my knees, impoverished
in so many ways.
There were days when the sun broke through the clouds
and my doubts cleared
under the cerulean sky,
when my escape seemed certain
and a song of rejoicing
already softened my lips.
But, no. You tracked me
and lay in wait.
Ambush was only
a matter of time.
Why, then, did you let me go
when I last ran?
Why was the line you drew
in the sand
so shallow and vague?
At play in the waves,
I only realized I'd crossed it
when I looked back
at the beach
and saw I was alone.
How brave I felt!
How bold and proud!
Children bounded and splashed
around me, grinning back
at my self-satisfied smile.
If only-- If only! If only I'd stayed
closer to shore--
If only the current
that bore me further out
had been clear and blue,
not cold and opaque
as unfeeling jade.
Maybe then I might have
noticed the crescent shadow
that flickered
in the depths,
beneath me.
Maybe then, I'd still be
innocent of your insidious
grasp, ensnaring my ankle
so delicately,
a mere tickle.
Maybe then, I'd have remembered
to leave the light on
as I slipped below
the surface of sleep
into unfathomable dreams.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Emeralds (Poem 121)
Maple
Bowing over the wooden balcony railing, where my cat perches, statue-still, whiskers and ears forward, concentrating on his busy, bushy-tailed nemesis
Celery
Lonely and limp in my refrigerator, where you tucked it in the crisper, planning to spread it thickly with cream cheese to accompany your lunch
Lawn
Watered by the family downstairs, so when all other grass grows crisp and drab, two dark-eyed boys can play baseball with their father on warm days, and organize complex battles when the evenings draw long
Jealousy
Then there was the one who spent so much time enraged over all the affairs he was convinced I had, that I came to believe my loyalty was misplaced
Sweater
Stretched out cotton--more comfortable than attractive, chosen many years ago from a farmer's market stall--which warms me even now with memories sweeter and softer than the finest cashmere
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Poem 120: Earlier Now, the Sun
Monday, July 29, 2013
Poem 119: Trespassing
Slip unnoticed under the fence,
And sprawl in the tall grass
For a while, panting and laughing
With the exhilaration unique
To young people ignoring
A No Trespassing sign.
Never meant for swimming, that lake,
Which (of course) makes it covetable
As a cold, crisp, honey-sweet slab
Of watermelon on a Death Valley day.
Overhead, you see, the stars seem
To be spinning backward, unspooling
Their spider's silk stories, though
You, pulling off and tossing aside
Clothing as you run
Lakeward, barefoot and free,
See only their dim reflection
In the still smooth surface
Of midnight blue water.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Poem 117: Here & There
after spending years
in the dull
I am coming home
to the delightful
during my time here
in the dark
I've thirsted
for cool white light
homesick for sweetness
I've lost my taste
for bitter disappointment
the scenery here
is outstanding
and the people so nice
but emeralds and pearls
will never suit me
as well
as a cup of jasmine tea
in a quicksilver bath
of moonlight
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Friday, July 26, 2013
Poem 116: The Blues
Sapphire I am born
The audience had not yet assembled
Azul Your family was my favorite part of you
I watched you drive away, downed a glass of water, and then went bowling
Blu You could not speak my language, nor I yours
When they laughed at her accent, the sound was so joyful she didn't mind
Bleu You sick bastard, you had no right
Sometimes it is necessary to judge on behalf of those who rely on us for protection
Turquoise In the distance, the sea
We will break free, and I will lead you there
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Poem 115: Delta
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Poem 114: Bossa Nova
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Poem 113: Zelda
those musical twilights
the indigo wash formed
limp gusts of gloom
long flowing satin covers
disintegrated into
black lace and pale hours
a cataract on the floor
under the sombre
ironic golden halo
lank contemporaneous
silhouettes twisted and
tore off short leaves
of youngness
drunk as debutantes
the cosmos
smelted into the
fashionable incompetence
and nebular significance
of serious people
fervently impassive
huddling and twinkling
by moonlight
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
My respects to Zelda Fitzgerald, author of Save Me the Waltz (her only novel). From a few paragraphs of her book, I created a short erasure, which evolved into this poem.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Poem 112: A Pigeon
Poem 111: Jumping Jack
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Swallows (Poem 110, a rondelet)
Friday, July 19, 2013
Poem 109: A Thousand Verses
Poem 109: Sweet Evening
One cat on the sofa,
One sleeping on the chair,
One sock off the needles,
Soon to be a pair;
Jazz sways in the background,
Children play tag outside,
I'd think this was heaven,
But I haven't died.
Evening cascades downward,
The cooling air, pure bliss;
Bed and book await me,
Twilight unfurls slowly,
Lingering so sweetly,
Like a goodnight kiss.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Poem 107: Counting Cherries
In the grocery store,
we count the cherries,
one by one, removing
from the plastic bag
those we cannot afford.
Three plums or four?
Next to us, a man
weighs an ugly yellow
melon in his hand,
touching it,
gazing at the price sign,
his head cocked
first to the right,
then the left.
An elderly couple,
gesticulating grandly,
discusses whether to buy
a cabbage or
a bunch of celery.
Too casually, I pick up
a small packet of grapes,
and head back to my cart,
flushing at my ostentatious
extravagance.
A young woman has
supplanted me at the altar
of the cherries
--black as dried blood--
and counts them out,
one by one, removing
from the plastic bag
those she cannot afford.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Monday, July 15, 2013
Poem 105: Venus' Song
In their eyes,
they stand below,
but within my embrace,
these children
who race toward me,
growing up too soon,
as children do.
Around me, close and far,
my sisters, brothers,
cousins are dancing
joyously, our own
racing outward, pulling us
apart. Gladly, though,
we go, singing out loud
on our way to
the very heart, where
the edge is the middle,
the middle the start.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Poem 104: Midnight
Poem 103: Winter Sun
Thursday, July 11, 2013
"Hurrying Toward Forever" (Poem 102)
A long time ago
my candle would awaken
me, the book, imagined
in my hands, a channel
of impressions.
Some, like scales would
begin to separate from
me, astonishing
and incomprehensible,
without matter, whistling
like a bird
hurrying toward forever
in a strange place.
The last farewells,
unfamiliar,
echo in the night,
delightful once again.
© 2013, by Hannah Six
my candle would awaken
me, the book, imagined
in my hands, a channel
of impressions.
Some, like scales would
begin to separate from
me, astonishing
and incomprehensible,
without matter, whistling
like a bird
hurrying toward forever
in a strange place.
The last farewells,
unfamiliar,
echo in the night,
delightful once again.
© 2013, by Hannah Six
Wisteria: Poem 101
Directly overhead, sun
Bleak, searing,
White-hot air thick
With moisture, magnifying
The day's sultry excess
On the bleached gravel
Path through dusty
Grand old gardens
Around a corner, though,
Wisteria arbors
Dark and cool
Green grottoes scented
Spicy and sweet, air
Ambrosial liquid jade
Healing the day's excess
Lungful after lungful, longing
And willing to breathe
This particular variety
Of heaven forever
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Tuesday, July 09, 2013
Poem 100!!!
JA, at the Window
Smiling enigmatically,
inwardly
listening to gentle creaks
and sputtering
wax, twigs tapping at the window,
and beloved voices
--muffled by walls and hallways--
the sounds of daily life
she sees in her minds eye
what a passer-by might glance:
a rich, golden glow
a cozily lit room that looks
warmer than it ever really is and
--through frost-etched glass--
a woman
placing a pen carefully in its holder
slipping a sheaf of small, neat pages
into her sloping desk and
smiling enigmatically,
inwardly
listening to gentle creaks
and sputtering
wax, twigs tapping at the window
and beloved voices
--muffled by walls and hallways.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
Chawton Cottage garden, Tony Grant, London Calling
Poem 99: Chimes
Sunday, July 07, 2013
Turning to Water: Poem 98
neither here nor there,
often nowhere at all.
no matter
alone I am
my own
home, the only one
who can offer me
a place
to rest
weeks
and months
and years of flight
my heart is tired
now
I cannot count on you
to wrap it
in liquid aqua silk
and kiss it
goodnight
I cannot count on you
to see the ocean
drop by drop
being squeezed
from my body
until I am parched
and fevered
I can
only count on you
to hand me
a tepid glass
of tomato juice
and tell me it's pure
cool spring
water
even were I stupid
as you think I am
I could still see
the color
of blood turning
to water
through your fingers
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
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