60 Days... 60 Poems!

Consent

She, the prettier, informed 

a thousand eyes and 

I, instead, their hearts.

Those considerate 

parts, we mused, probably 

weren't taken with consent.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

60 Days... 60 Poems!

Much (Poem #59)

May not seem like much,

Petals unfurling each dawn,

Until you try it.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Much (Poem #59)

Poem #58: Dear

Dear 

Running, you cry out and 

whimper. I hurry to your side, but 

you can't tell me what hurts.

Your sweet brown eyes 

gaze into the distance, 

unseeing, focused inward. 

My heart breaks, but

you can't tell me what's wrong.

In seconds, you fall to pieces,

centered and still in an 

unfamiliar, ominous way that 

leaves me shaken and frightened, but

you can't tell me what you need.

Dear one, 

     your innocence touches me,

     your devotion thrills me,

     your love warms me, but 

I can't tell you how it hurts.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Poem #58: Dear

41st & Baltimore: Poem #57

41st & Baltimore

July, 41st and Baltimore,

sere sidewalk bleached by 

stark midday sun, 

humid air like paste on 

my skin, buckled and broken 

sidewalk undulating in 

dizzying, dappled shade. 

And there, near a hedge, 

on pavement that reflected 

the day's heat into 

night's wee hours, moving 

with excruciating purpose, 

a wholly-unexpected 

turtle. 

Stillness, soon to be split 

open, its tenderness invaded by 

cicadas' siren songs, pressed 

against my eyes and ears; 

no children's laughter, no 

stoop-sitting conversations 

in flaccid Philadelphia 

accents set to the music of ice 

chiming in sweated glasses, 

no rumbling thunder, no 

squalling subway-surface line. 

Just the turtle, 

and me. 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

SEPTA 56 Line, 1980

Photo: D. Jacksich

41st & Baltimore: Poem #57

Poem #56: Fumbled

Fumbled

Lingerie unwillingly folded,

Fumbled players losing grins,

Dismayed the jury; as he scolded,

Humbled judge said: No one wins.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Poem #56: Fumbled

Poem #55: Embellishment

Embellishment

Dashes and dots of 

clouds, like running stitches 

decorate the edge 

of night with stars arranged 

in untidy rows.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Poem #55: Embellishment

Poem #54: It Will Be Different

It Will Be Different

I keep thinking I am 

In love 

With my dreams, even 

Though I've never swum 

In clear, turquoise waters.

I keep thinking 

It's going to get better--

Spring will be soft and 

Warm again; diamonds will burn 

Like fire on my pale earlobes;

And the bitter, fragrant coffee

I pour will stay hot longer 

in my favorite crimson mug.

I keep thinking 

I will see that

     --though my life

     hasn't been simple

     or easy--

The not knowing 

What it will look like 

Six months from

Now

Is what frightens me most.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Poem #54: It Will Be Different

Poem 53: District of Columbia, May 2005

District of Columbia, May 2005

A slow rain, insipid and vague, 

Fizzes on glistening sidewalks, 

Releasing soft, tepid steam,

And refracting a golden glow 

Of laughter, lingering dinners, and

Tender tuckings-into-beds.

Shushing the faintly-amber night

It swathes the world in silk

And sequins, luring

Each innocent blade of grass 

Wondrously upward, until, 

In unison, they sidle through 

The planet's crust and inhale 

The wet-rubber musk of 

A rainy morning

In the city, in May.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Orchard Lane, in Georgetown, Washington DC

Poem 53: District of Columbia, May 2005