Tag Archives: sadness

Blackbird

. . . That day in the garden we heard

a bell-throated birdsong bounding

through the courtyard from St. Thomas’ Church,

a song so sharp it obliterated even the groan

of his wheelchair inching down the graveled path .

–Excerpt from “Blackbird” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). First published in Wichita Falls Literary and Arts Review.

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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).

The Memory

. . . My hands

shake from the cold, emotion,

or the cup of Arabica,

a small white anchor

for my ship of sorrows.

–excerpt from “The Memory” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag Press, 2014). First published in North Dakota Quarterly.

A Fine Snow

Boots, coats and hats, the woolly

appurtenances of protection,

cannot save us. Even when

we close our eyes,

small pieces of sadness

stick to collar, eyelash, and cheek…

–Excerpt from “A Fine Snow” in Hanging Like Hope on the Equinox by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective, 2013). First published in Pinyon Poetry.

Demise

. . . Nameless friend, you can never come back.

There’s no way to remember you–no stone, hymn,

or urn, just the mausoleum of this sad world

that is poorer now without your beak, claw,

and olive eye, your song from the butterfly bush . . .

–excerpt from “Demise” in Hanging Like Hope on the Equinox (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.