So I can bear this (Day 16, NaPoWriMo 2013)

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.

Click here to link to the lovely Norwegian poem I chose.

So I can bear this (Day 16, NaPoWriMo 2013)

Untitled (Day 15, NaPoWriMo 2013)

Untitled
By Hannah Six

The bright honeyed light of my memory plays
on the emerald pool of my dreams.
When you leave me your scent lingers here for days--
you're still keeping me company, it seems.

Untitled (Day 15, NaPoWriMo 2013)

We Cometh (Day 14, NaPoWriMo 2013)

We Cometh

By Hannah Six

If you have it

we don't want it.

If you don't

we want it all!

Hide it from us,

we'll come find you...

Our mistake?

You'll take the fall.

We Cometh (Day 14, NaPoWriMo 2013)

Spring Harbor (Day 13, NaPoWriMo 2013)

a thin, crisp edge on
the March breeze
we lean in toward
each other
soft woolen scarves wound
loosely round our throats

apple blossoms dance
on each gust,
alight on the mill
pond, petals
unfurled, billowing,
like fairy sail boats

Spring Harbor (Day 13, NaPoWriMo 2013)

"Not Normal" (Day 12, NaPoWriMo 2013)

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.

Washington, DC, Spring 2006

"Not Normal" (Day 12, NaPoWriMo 2013)

Padded (No. 11, NaPoWriMo 2013)

motherly, tender,
you held out my new jacket,
helped me with the sleeves,
then fastened all those buckles
behind my back, my arms crossed

Padded (No. 11, NaPoWriMo 2013)

"You are not (Hugo Chavez)" [No. 10, NaPoWriMo 2013]

You Are Not (Hugo Chavez)
By Hannah Six

You are.
You are new.
You are cold.
You are poor.
You are weak.
You are ineffective.

You are.
You are abandoned,
       hungry, uncertain.
You are used.
You are helpless.
You are ill.
You are a/lone.

You are.
You are embattled.
You are trapped.
You are (still) ill.
You are destitute. Depleted.
You are broken
      - hearted.
            - open.

You are (yes)
You are old.
You are relieved.
You are    not.

No wonder we imagined
For ourselves
             a heaven
                one must suffer
                   to enter.

"You are not (Hugo Chavez)" [No. 10, NaPoWriMo 2013]

Closing Night (No. 9, NaPoWriMo 2013)

Closing Night
By Hannah Six

That's it, show's over.
Curtain closed, lights off,
He tells himself. You fool.
You stupid, lousy optimistic fool.
Disdainful smirk and pitying
Shake of the head, as
He climbs the long, sloping aisle,
Intricately tiled in various colors
Of dust and fog;

His heels, reverberating
In the cavernous space,
Tap-tap-tapping at his back,
Like a bad dream
You just can't shake,
Even hours after
You wake in a cold sweat,
Shrouded in your
Damp, clutching sheets.

The audience's collective gasp--
A few thin cries from
Would-be damsels furtively longing for distress--
Echoes, otherworldly, in his ears.
And he knows without knowing
That, years later,
He will still hear
The body
Hit the stage,
A rolling thunk, like a camel
Falling to its knees.

Later, at closing time,
In a dun-hued haze
Of smoke and Maker's,
He slaps the empty tumbler
Down in a puddle of sour
Bar-rag water,
Swipes at the stains with his fist,
And tries to forget:

The proud straightness
Of her back.
The silver bracelets slicing
The tender, sparrow-flesh
Of her wrists.
("I told you I wasn't worth the effort.")
And his parting glance--
Branded on his mind
With the clarity that tells a man
He'll never stop regretting,
Never be able to forget--
At her name,
Those letters, scattered across
Her dressing room door,
Like fairy dust
Sprinkled by
A vengeful Godmother.

Closing Night (No. 9, NaPoWriMo 2013)