Tag Archives: august

Summer it seems

is over —

children back to school,

leaves dropping careless

on the lawn, roses laced

with Japanese beetles.

Petunias nod

in their sad pots . . .

–Excerpt from “Summer it seems” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). First published in Chaffin Journal.


Southern Comfort

. . . We create ourselves anew each night,

bathed and night-gowned, sipping root beer floats

on the porch under an orange moon,

counting pink polka-dots on skinny legs,

as now we watch a penny-candy sunset . . .

–excerpt from “Southern Comfort” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag Press, 2014). First published in Chaffin.


Today I looked at the photographs

of last summer’s dahlias, brash faces

crowding a London garden with lemon

and magenta, a folly of profusion.

How I needed those deep colors

turning to the sun, breaking through

the pinpoint English rain . . .

–excerpt from “Dahlias” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (virtual artists collective/purple flag, 2015). First published in The New Writer.