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.
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.
. . . The tutor’s voice smoothes out
their misshapen vowels, calms
their anxious verbs with just the right
endings, placing them on their tongues
–excerpt from “Italian Tutorial” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag Press, 2014). First published in Atlanta Review.