Thirty-three
By Hannah Six
Twenty-eight are silent in Newtown;
Five more this week in Federal Way.
But you can't look into my background.
Twenty-eight are silent in Newtown.
Don't ask me to put my name down--
My rights are protected by the NRA.
Twenty-eight are silent in Newtown;
Five more this week in Federal Way.
(Today's poem is a triolet.)
Biochemical Engineering
By Hannah Six
the work the work
recently emerged, spans
the heart’s fundamental
activity, tools,
hardware, and
exploits
a variety of in vitro
and in vivo techniques
complex methods of deep stimulation
that disorder the restoration
of function and design
study singles' activity at
the population's level, to monitor
and treat diseases, activities,
and the organ
the system understands
efficient, dynamic, emotional
decisions and memories
a close relationship
between synthetic hearts
common as a new being,
already-established,
considered in itself
one is, after all, realistic
about computer models
and cardiac muscle
Around the Block
By Hannah Six
Coffee grown tepid in
the whale-tail handled mug beside me,
my unproductive fingers withdraw,
shamed and cold,
into the stretched-out sleeves
of a cashmere cardigan—
the precise color of a slice
of Wonder Bread,
kneaded back to doughiness
by grubby little hands
—a badge of honor
from a boy
I no longer consider.
Strings of words, elusive wraiths, billow
like squandered prayer flags
around my me,
teasing, mocking, ever beyond reach.
Meanwhile, my wretched muse sulks
in the corner
behind my right shoulder,
where the lamp beside
the rose-patterned armchair
is seldom,
these days,
switched on.
A ghost now, at best,
bilious seaweed hair and
almost-there complexion
betray her discontent.
What is it? What is it? I entreat,
willing to
meet her
halfway.
The coffee? Perhaps, instead,
I should I should bask
in the steam
of a porcelain cup
of hibiscus tea
sweetened with
organic, local blackberry honey.
The daylight? A fat pear-scented
soy-based pillar
might create
a more enticing glow…
But, no.
Pushing away from the desk,
chair legs and floor cry out en masse,
protesting this untimely intimacy.
I rest my favorite aqua pen
on a chopstick holder (bird’s egg blue)
from the Asian store
on Connecticut Avenue where
many a lazy
lunch-hour stroll
led me,
way-back-when.
Me thinks I will,
talking to the Muse, I say,
call it a day.
Beyond the fog-rimmed window
pine boughs nod:
Yes… yes…
And, suddenly,
the dim, chill, gray-white drizzle
takes on a prospect of delight.
I reach for my umbrella
and the dog’s new, pink leash.
So I can bear this
By Hannah Six
Morning, you sit with me,
Note in hand--
Didn’t want it to be like that.
Save me from danger
So I can forestall my being alone
I was thinking today,
He went to bed on the side I wanted.
How I’d like to have another day,
For a legacy’s a burden if forgotten.
Until cares lighten,
Make her rare
With us
So I can bear this.
Dear readers:
Today's poem resulted from an interesting prompt offered on the NaPoWriMo website. Here's an abbreviated, paraphrased version:
Choose a foreign (to you) language poem from Poetry International. Cut and paste the original-language version into a document and use the sound and shape of the words and lines to guide you, without worrying too much about whether your translation makes sense.
Not Normal
By Hannah Six
More and more,
each one
(much bigger than expected)
masters the art where
power rises on
the inside--
blistering,
naturally aspirated.
No matter.
The crowd most certainly remains
defiantly normal,
the purest expression of
an unapologetically aggressive mindset
of gravity:
precise, ultra-stiff,
a direct connection that--while
spectacularly retractable--leaves
no one in
doubt.
Hippopotami
By Hannah Six
Turn away from the amethyst afternoon sky.
Turn away, turn away, and don't raise your eyes!
My children, your father is gone now, for good,
And we're all alone in this strange neighborhood.
What happened, you ask? Well, you'll hear by and by...
He was eaten by African hippopotami.
Your daddy went swimming, unaware of his fate...
Like black clouds in the river, those beasts lay in wait.
One moment he was there, and then without a sound,
He was gone! A strong swimmer, he'd never have drowned...
So, they dredged through the muck, 'til one man, with a cry,
Held aloft daddy's hat, chewed by hippopotami.
Thank Auntie for the nice green-bean casserole,
And be careful, dear, that you don't drop her red bowl.
Seal it up with that precious, pricey tin foil,
And then fill the kettle--let me know when it boils.
Now, leave us to talk, dear, your Auntie and I,
About money, and daddy, and hippopotami.
No, Mrs. Jones, there won't be a casket.
The pieces they found wouldn't fill a small basket.
Why, yes, little Amy, there will be a grave,
Where we can go visit the parts they could save
From the sluggish brown water flowing tranquilly by
Where my beloved was eaten by hippopotami.
Thank you, Reverend, the service couldn't have been sweeter.
Now, here comes my poor mother; I'd like you to meet her.
The cakes and the punch will be served now, at home,
By some church ladies who think I shouldn't be alone.
But I'm not! My dear children are there by my side,
When I wake screaming, from nightmares of hippopotami.
Sweet dreams now, my dear hearts, your prayers are all said;
You were kind to remember your poor father, who's dead.
Kiss Mama good night, little golden-haired boy.
And my girl, let me help you to tuck in your toys--
Your favorite animals, soft and blue as the sky,
Birthday gifts from your daddy: three hippopotami.
