Recollected

Dolor squeezes through the cracks

of memory–the career that never was,

the shock of suicide. In the blur

of work, food, sleep, we sigh…

–Excerpt from “Recollected” in Donna Pucciani, A Light Dusting of Breath (Chicago: Virtual Artists Collective, 2016).

Goodbye to All That

Our revels now are ended.

Nowhere to go, nothing to do

but watch the melt.

–excerpt from “Goodbye to All That” in HANGING LIKE HOPE ON THE EQUINOX by Donna Pucciani

Ferris Wheel

How long have they been married?

They have just been to heaven and back,

like birds, falling stars, or the sunlight…

–excerpt from “Ferris Wheel, Navy Pier, Chicago” in HANGING LIKE HOPE ON THE EQUINOX by Donna Pucciani

Remembrance

Birdsong, rain, and lightning

erase your long loneliness…

–excerpt from “Remembrance” in HANGING LIKE HOPE ON THE EQUINOX by Donna Pucciani

For Anton

…leaning on my stick of nostalgia.

I follow in the footsteps of the three sisters,

their vague sadness interrupting my nights…

–excerpt from “For Anton” in HANGING LIKE HOPE ON THE EQUINOX by Donna Pucciani

Death of a Student

–Was the crow on the cradle

the day she was born?

–excerpt from “Death of a Student” in HANGING LIKE HOPE ON THE EQUINOX by Donna Pucciani

Demise

…a sidewalk heap of ochre the size of a hand,

drawing an iridescent chorus of flies…

–excerpt from “Demise” in HANGING LIKE HOPE ON THE EQUINOX by Donna Pucciani

Thinking of Death at the Open Rehearsal

…What is it like to be a pile of flesh,

the bird that fell from the nest

or hit the glass in full flight?

–excerpt from “Thinking of Death at the Open Rehearsal” in HANGING LIKE HOPE FROM THE EQUINOX by Donna Pucciani

Why I Like La Boheme

…A serrated song cuts my torso

into pieces of sad flesh…

–excerpt from “Why I Like La Boheme” in HANGING LIKE HOPE ON THE EQUINOX by Donna Pucciani

Train Station, Berlin

…He never wonders when next

someone will kiss him on the lips.

–excerpt from “Train Station, Berlin” in HANGING LIKE HOPE ON THE EQUINOX by Donna Pucciani

Digit, Avila

…Models of her castanets

click silently in the next case…

–excerpt from “Digit, Avila” in HANGING LIKE HOPE ON THE EQUINOX by Donna Pucciani