Tag Archives: father

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).

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Weather

….Lightning cloaks

the black bones of night,

fastens the hidden folds of stars.

The night my father died, I’d watched

for storms, some cosmic reflection

of his demise, this human being

of gigantic proportions…

–Excerpt from “Weather” in Hanging Like Hope on the Equinox by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective 2013). First published in America.

Storm, with Fruit

That first electric flash

splits past from present,

lighting the violence of time.

My father died ten years ago today.

I’d seen him just a week before,

a shriveled apple in a wheelchair….

–Excerpt from “Storm, with Fruit” in Hanging Like Hope on the Equinox by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective, 2013). First published in Gihon River Review.

Inheritance

This is my father’s walker,

cane, commode, used against

Parkinsonian tremors. We never thought

we’d need such things . . .

–excerpt from “VI. Inheritance” in the series of poems entitled “Post-Operative” from Hanging Like Hope on the Equinox by Donna Pucciani (virtual artists collective, Chicago 2013).

Remembrance

Hallucinations have ascended the pink

institutional walls into the scent

of autumn. Your shoulders

took the shape of wings . . . .

–excerpt from “Remembrance” in Hanging Like Hope on the Equinox by Donna Pucciani (virtual artists collective, 2013).

This poem is posted today in memory of my father, Francis Pucciani, who died on July 1, 2001, after a long battle with Parkinson’s.

Remembrance

Today I write a poem for you, Papa.

Not a sad poem, for we are finished with sadness,

you and I. No more wheelchairs. The tremors

have ceased, spasms calmed on a cloud . . . .

–excerpt from “Remembrance” in Hanging like Hope on the Equinox by Donna Pucciani (virtual artists collective, Chicago 2013). First published in Poetry East.

This poem is posted today in memory of my father, Francis Pucciani, who suffered from Parkinson’s disease for many years and died on July 1, 2001.

Saving His Hat

I’d thought it would be easy, the last sorting.

After all, he wouldn’t be at my elbow

in the wheelchair, insisting: Save this!

Keep that! That shirt’s a Brooks Brothers!

–excerpt from “Saving His Hat” in Jumping Off the Train by Donna Pucciani (Blue Forge Press 2007). First published in Journal of Medical Humanities.