by Donna Pucciani
A neighbor offers daisies
from her monstrous clump
that grabs light with fingers
full of sun, edging out
lesser neighbors.
A space opens up
on my shadowy east side
where only weeds take over.
It’s worth a try, even though
daisies prefer
the burning skies of summer,
cloudless blue making their white
glow neon,
their yellow centers burst
like ripe peaches.
Dug into the dark region
between an old forsythia
that hasn’t bloomed in years
and a yew planted to hide
the elbows of rusty pipes,
they risk everything to find
another existence with unlikely
friends, their lanky limbs collapsing,
touching, a new communion.
Donna Pucciani, a Chicago-based writer, has published poetry in the U.S., Europe, Australia and Asia in such diverse journals as International Poetry Review, Poetry Salzburg, The Pedestal, Shi Chao Poetry, Poetry Magazine Online, Journal of the American Medical Association, Gradiva and The Christian Century. Her work has been translated into Italian, Chinese and Japanese. Her books include The Other Side of Thunder, Jumping Off the Train, Chasing the Saints, To Sip Darjeeling at Dawn Hanging Like Hope on the Equinox, and most recently, A Light Dusting of Breath. In addition to five Pushcart nominations, she has won awards from the Illinois Arts Council, The National Federation of State Poetry Societies and Poetry on the Lake.
Hawaii Pacific Review 