The gray ghost
tumbles from oak to buckthorn
in search of berries, now
a silent troubadour in the linden,
hanging head down and alert
from the bat-house . . . .
–Excerpt from “Squirrel Moment” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). First published in Iodine Poetry Journal.
Every day, more light, they say, and yet
sky smothers earth like an old pillow.
Squirrels hide in clumps of leftover leaves.
Trees inscribe eternal winter on the roofs.
–Excerpt from “After the Solstice” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). First published in Flint Hills Review.
…seeking the grey fluff
of the other…
or summer or bells
so grateful that the other
is there even if
on the other side of the tree
or in the black crotch thinking
of the other yes even if hidden or
Excerpt from “Two Squirrels” in Hanging Like Hope on the Equinox by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective, 2014).