Solstice

The shortest day of the year

genuflects on snow-dusted sidewalks,

its frozen fingers folded in prayer,

its head bowed in the overwhelming darkness

beyond the fringes of dead leaves

and the inaudible sighs of the moon.

This day wants to remember lilacs…

–Excerpt from “Solstice” in Hanging Like Hope on the Equinox by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective, 2013). Published in Illuminations and The Old Red Kimono.

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