Tag Archives: Louisiana

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.



. . . I feel like a kid again,

a Yankee summering

with southern cousins

who wore coonskin caps

and shot BB guns

while suqtting in trees.

My favorite things–

grape popsicles

that dyed my tongue purple . . .

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

Southern Comfort

The cousins down south are hospitable,

wear T-shirts that read Laissez le bontemps rouler,

bring up children who call us “ma’am” and “sir,”

believe Jesus died for their sins.

In dreams of childhood,

we chase mosquito trucks down the street,

reveling in misted poison.

–excerpt from “Southern Comfort” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective/Purple Flag, 2015). First published in Chaffin.