Tag Archives: Indian Summer

Always

. . . But what is there

to be sad about? The moon

will wax orange, the trees

glow golden, and berries

pop their crimson heads out

for one last look before snow.

–Excerpt from “Always” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016).

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Always

the same sadness,

those Indian Summer days

bringing a rush of heat

and the final moisture

of flower and leaf.

–Excerpt from “Always” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016).

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.

Indian Summer

Hot as dust in the throat,
fall unravels on night in October.
Cataclysmic orange dries
to brown amnesia, every leaf
a shred of wanderings and whispers.
The yellow moon steeps autumn,
brews peppermint and pears.

–excerpt from “Indian Summer” in To Sip Darjeeling at Dawn by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective, Chicago 2011). First published in Driftwood.

Autumn Unawares

Indian summer squints
into the wide eye
of the harvest moon,
observes no leaf waving,
nor the shallow roots of the maple
reaching drought-stricken
under the hard September earth.

–from “Autumn Unawares” in To Sip Darjeeling at Dawn by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective, Chicago 2011). First published in Coffee House (U.K.)

Autumn Unawares

from Autumn Unawares

But somewhere between harvest

and All Hallows, each mystery creeps into its own special darkness,

each paw, claw, twig and beak

leaves a last unnoticed print

pressed on the hoarfrost . . . .

–excerpt from “Autumn Unawares” in To Sip Darjeeling at Dawn by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective 2011). First published in Coffee House.

Autumn Unawares

from Autumn Unawares

There is no single night

when suddenly

bees, ants, crickets, wasps,

bullfrogs, bats and birds

decide to disappear en masse

in a shower of sparks.

–excerpt from “Autumn Unawares” in To Sip Darjeeling at Dawn by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective 2011). First published in Coffee House.