Tag Archives: summer

Waiting for Crickets

. . . one of you will be out there

singing your loud courtship

with open wings, then

falling asleep in your lover’s arms,

making your little night music

in the midnight void.

–Excerpt from “Waiting for Crickets” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). First published in Off the Coast.

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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.

Backscratcher

As a child, I, the Yankee from Jersey,

would visit Betty, my aunt and godmother

in New Orleans, for summers drenched

in mosquitoes and melted popsicles.

Unlike my mother, she let me run

barefoot . . .

–Excerpt from “Backscratcher” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). First published in Penniless Press.

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.

Digging Out the Daisies

. . . Dug into the dark region

between an old forsythia

and a yew planted to hide

the elbows of rusty pipes,

they risk everything to find . . .

a new communion.

–Excerpt from “Digging Out the Daisies” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). Published in Hawaii Pacific Review and The Cresset.

Storm After Drought

Last night, when rain stroked

the scarred earth, entering the cracks

with small invasive hands,

and clouds sang the cantos

of momentary loss, shaking the trees,

we lay in our beds breathless . . .

–excerpt from “Storm after Drought” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag Press, 2014). First published in After Hours.

Southern Comfort

. . . We create ourselves anew each night,

bathed and night-gowned, sipping root beer floats

on the porch under an orange moon,

counting pink polka-dots on skinny legs,

as now we watch a penny-candy sunset . . .

–excerpt from “Southern Comfort” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag Press, 2014). First published in Chaffin.