Still

I teach my Italian cousin

two meanings for “still”–

“as always,” and “without movement.”

Still here, I say, though we

could die any time at our age.

We think of this at the cafe,

sometimes aloud . . .

–excerpt from “Still” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (virtual artists collective/purple flag, 2015). Previously¬† published in Feile Festa and North Dakota Review.

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