by Donna Pucciani
Your favorite flower,
though I never knew why,
and you never could explain.
Their bright faces reflect the sun,
aflame in yellows and reds. They turn
from shadows, disrespect the dark.
They choose petaled light, fanning out
from a core of ochre, find the pink Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Donna Pucciani
we are without pages,
pens dropping from our hands
stars rise on our poverty
the moon sheds light on our infirmities Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Donna Pucciani
A neighbor offers daisies
from her monstrous clump
that grabs light with fingers
full of sun, edging out
lesser neighbors. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
Hawaii Pacific Review 