The Cranes

. . . The high-pitched lunacy

of their gargled laugh

lights up the forest below

that has all but lost its gold

in autumn’s dizzying wind.

–excerpt from “The Cranes” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag Press, 2014).  First published in Soundings East.

The Cranes

We’ve met, by chance, some friends,

an elderly couple, he smiling,

she wide-eyed with dementia,

strolling the path through wood

and meadow. They cry, Look!

The Cranes, overhead!

Fifty or a hundred commas

gather in the sky as if

they do not know to what sentence

they currently belong . . .

–excerpt from “The Cranes” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag Press, 2014). First published in Soundings East.

 

Storm After Drought

Last night, when rain stroked

the scarred earth, entering the cracks

with small invasive hands,

and clouds sang the cantos

of momentary loss, shaking the trees,

we lay in our beds breathless . . .

–excerpt from “Storm after Drought” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag Press, 2014). First published in After Hours.

Aftermath

Wires and water

don’t go well together.

The hurricane has forced them

to cohabit streets filled

with floating debris,

lumber, children’s toys,

a car, someone’s stove

drifting by like a cloud

sauntering in a blue sky,

the kind of sky they haven’t seen

for days in New Jersey.

–excerpt from “Aftermath” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag Press, 2014). First published in Plainsongs.

Conjecture

What if sun and moon

were to collide in space,

spawning sparks of gold and silver,

little gods and goddesses falling to earth

to make everything right?

–excerpt from “Conjecture” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag Press, 2014). First published in Amoskeag.

Opening the Curtains

In the division of labor

that is marriage, one of his daily jobs,

assumed for no particular reason,

is to open the curtains. Each morning,

wandering from one room to the next,

he lets in the sky, enjoying the pull

of the cords, the vision of cloud,

rain, or new snow, framed in

the crossword design of windows . . . .

–excerpt from “Opening the Curtains” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag Press, 2014). First published in The Cape Rock.

Southern Comfort

. . . We create ourselves anew each night,

bathed and night-gowned, sipping root beer floats

on the porch under an orange moon,

counting pink polka-dots on skinny legs,

as now we watch a penny-candy sunset . . .

–excerpt from “Southern Comfort” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag Press, 2014). First published in Chaffin.