Blue Ridge Buds

One night the fog rolled in

and took him with it, his coffin

the old blue sedan she’d always hated.

They’d brought him up from the mountain

where he’d failed to make the turn

(the road ran out in front of him

like the last dollar in the pocket

of his too-tight jeans).

–excerpt from “Blue Ridge Buds” in To Sip Darjeeling at Dawn by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective 2011). First published in Slant.

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