Category Archives: Poems

Waiting for Crickets

. . . If blood were magic, it would

conjure your serrated wings

grinding like small gears

in the tropical dark,

a rumor of alleluias.

–Excerpt from “Waiting for Crickets” from Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). First published in Off the Coast.

Louisiana, Night

Here dusk never cools the air

while rocking the cradle of earth

with the loud lullaby of locusts.

–Excerpt from “Louisiana, Night” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). First published in New Laurel Review.

Digging Out the Daisies

. . . Dug into the dark region

between an old forsythia

and a yew planted to hide

the elbows of rusty pipes,

they risk everything to find . . .

a new communion.

–Excerpt from “Digging Out the Daisies” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). Published in Hawaii Pacific Review and The Cresset.

Dawn

came blundering in today

through rain-battered sills,

shutters banging in the violet night,

and the fists of half-closed clouds

pounding the windows . . .

–Excerpt from “Dawn” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). First published in Stride Magazine.

What My Father Taught Me

. . . He was my fighter, my magician,

my master of pretense, and the day

mother took too many aspirin,

he could do anything for me

but make me disappear.

–Excerpt from “What My Father Taught Me” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016).

To Language

Words, why do you fail me?

I have befriended you from my childhood.

We have been on intimate terms.

We have a mutual understanding. Watch and listen,

you say. Approach slowly.

–Excerpt from “To Language” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). First published in Cairn.

Learning Italian

Declension is a harsh word for nouns

that sleep in a blue bay, or verbs that conjugate

in the lemon trees. But —

–Excerpt from “Learning Italian” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). First published in Newport Review.