take the moon
and the stars with you
everything i love is distant
and out of reach–there is nothing out there for me now –six pm
(slightly different from my poem *9.28.19 —
this was totally unintentional,
serendipity is wild!)
Happy Pi. Day!
Happy Birthday Einstein!
And I hope you had a pie. (We had pizza)
*six pm | 2019
If you must leave
take the moon
and the stars
Everything I love
and out of reach
Photos: Paige Six | 2018
Today a piece of my heart is sewn shut, I close the door on a home that was once mine and mine alone. The only home I’ve ever owned like that. I collect whatever art I did not leave on the walls and I lock the door for good on whatever I leave behind in it.
This home held my grandmother’s refrigerator, my few intimate moments with my mother in her later life, my independence. My first ever moves towards fulfilling a life that I wanted took place in this home. My first ever mile run, my routines in general were formed here. I had moments with my daughter that were hard and that were tender.
I collect from this place all the original art that ever meant anything to me. I collect my red astronaut concepts, the planets I painted as murals on the wall I say a goodbye to. My rainbow kitchen, and the love affairs that were shared on my purple sofa.
I say goodbye to paint on the floor. I say good bye to dishes washed by hand. To my daughter’s colorful room covered in Coro Coro advertisements and posters. The curtains hanging where doors belong. To pipes that burst and projects that challenge me to grow as an adult.
To dangerous neighbors and a neighborhood so dirty that the weeds decorate the cracked pavement with their colors because no amount of oppressions can stop the world from reclaiming her identity as an unyielding artist.
I say good bye to the home where I rolled my first joint and quit my last pack of cigarettes. I say good bye to the place where my childhood sweetheart and I drank a full bottle of red and bottle of white, then danced in the kitchen in refrigerator light before Taylor Swift ever published such romanticisms as a song, strangling the memory for so many young poets.
I say good bye to my first garden, and the one sun flower that bloomed because the soil was so dirty and the cars that parked in front of my house kept rolling over it.
I say good bye to being 10 minutes from the heart of New York City on a bus ride. I say good bye to swamp summers near the airport taking photos of the take-offs against neon globalized sunsets. I say good riddance to a trailer park, and I’ll miss you to a shanty trailer who with all of its might kept me and my child safe from elements, people, eyes, and loved us even before I knew how to love it back.
So sweetly I wish to say, now;
thank you so much, and good bye.
Paige Six | 2021
Stars crossed the moment our eyes met, but at this hour when the sun set herself upon the meridian, casting us both aglow in gold each other’s gazes are all we two did behold. It was six o’ clock P.M. and Autumn had set the air to chill. Wind-span of air from the Earth’s lungs rustled the golden leaves mimicking the distinct sound of a deep and endless ocean. He was truly remarkable, 6’3 and tanned like wheat with honey brown eyes and thick curly black hair faded high and tight. He smiled at me brightly, and I did my best to breeze past him, but truth-be-told he’d simply rendered me speechless. I don’t believe before that moment I’d believed in first sight love, even then I don’t think I understood what had just begun. In that moment I only hoped that if no one ever chased me down for a second chance again, that this man would. And he did. -six pm
today i purchased einstein theories in hard back. no. i did not need another copy but my first three are already full of poetry in the margins and in between spaces. my husband reminds me of a beau tiful black hole the way his darkness glistens. i love him. he’s done some shady things; he is my her o. i thank him for his service. he thanks me for loving all the parts of him that are broken; he thanks me for allowing him to lick my places that tas te like good woman. sometimes; i want to wash his eyes of all the slaughter he saw in war; no. i want to sink into his gravity and know more. no. i want to unwrinkle time tidy like his dress blues that a freak fire burned. i want to travel back in time and tie together pinky fingers w. ribbons he has earned. i am not a genius. no. but i know the difference between general and special relativity: he and me; we’re something especially special. our love affair is a continuum… -six pm
six pm | 2019
I’m not sure what to write here. I’ll probably come back and write more later, or add another post. I hate feeling pressured to write beautiful prose every time an event’s anniversary rolls around. The truth is, while there is an abundance of poetry to share about the way my life has unfolded into the arms of a strong man who holds me together like glue; that the best way I could describe what it feels like to live this life of fortune is to simply say that I know now I’m one of the lucky ones.
I didn’t plan on ever getting married. But I’m glad I had.
My wedding was one of the most nerve-racking experiences of my life. But my marriage has been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Chuck really is my better half. And he loves me the way I deserve to be loved. Who could ask for more? It’s maybe more than one person deserves. I’d be lying if I told you that it didn’t feel that way some times.
If I could go back in time, and love him longer, I would.
Here’s to a long and full life, together…
Before the Autumn reaps, don’t you believe that tree’s leaves would enjoy knowing the feeling of reaching and holding another’s branches? All the while these trees cannot conceive of such things.
I like to envision the brain of a dandelion as it tenderly caresses the faces of other dandelions. Before the wind sweeps away with their heads spreading each one’s likeness across distant lands. I bet they’d hold on to one another, these seeds, to the seeds of their lovers hoping to exist together upon the reaches of greener grass.
It’s not unlike me to marvel at what a miracle consciousness is. How lucky we are to share it despite all of its pains. All the while these dandelions might never see their own likenesses the way I can divine myself reflected back in my child’s smiling eyes. It’s such a blessing to conceive of such things. -six pm | *when I think of Julia
Paige Six | 2021
The gift of a small coffee (.. or a beer!) goes a long way.