Category Archives: Journals

Booksellers, Taormina

Just above the Cyclops Restaurant,

up stone steps smelling of eucalyptus,

broods the bookstore, breathing the decay

of tarnished roses pasted under the noon rain.

Inside, life is made of words . . .

–Excerpt from “Booksellers, Taormina” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). First published in Gradiva.

Squirrel Moment

The gray ghost

tumbles from oak to buckthorn

in search of berries, now

a silent troubadour in the linden,

hanging head down and alert

from the bat-house . . . .

–Excerpt from “Squirrel Moment” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). First published in Iodine Poetry Journal.

In Rome

I swim like a fish

through vowels bubbling

in the fountains of Villa Borghese.

My tongue grows consonants,

coins in Neptune’s bath, my lips

become fins in the Trevi . . .

–Excerpt from “In Rome” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). First published in PoetryMagazine.com.

Blackbird

The hills have buried the day

in this nondescript dawn. Stillness muffles

even the language of sparrows in the hedge.

The paving stones are damp with dew,

and ivy shakes on the wooden fence.

Blackbird, where is your song?

–Excerpt from “Blackbird” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). First published in Wichita Falls Literary and Arts Review.

April in Florence

. . . Somewhere else people are dying,

but here, the living are lifted

into the morrow, turning down

their beds as lights go on all over

the city where Dante dreamed

of Beatrice on his way to Paradise.

–Excerpt from “April in Florence” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago 2016). First published in Summerset Review.

Easter Vigil

. . . a celebration of absence, the narrow shift

between dark and dawn, alleluias found

in a crevasse of infinite light.

–Excerpt from “Easter Vigil” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). First published in Evansville Review.

Easter Vigil

The sky bleeds strawberries

over the Lancashire hills

on Holy Saturday night.

Churches spire their Gothic hopes

heavenward, awaiting Resurrection

among red clouds, nudging the night

into silver . . .

–Excerpt from “Easter Vigil” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). First published in Evansville Review.