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Poetry

Donna Pucciani – 1 poem

Lines and Spaces

            

All morning, I have been telephoning abroad,

talking of politics, plagues and our vain efforts

to control any of it. Our languages are clumsy,

knit together with dropped stitches, our voices

warming to distant communion. I swear

one day I’ll visit Bordeaux and Berlin, see my niece

in Madrid, drive to family in the hills of Lancashire,

drink coffee again with cousins in Bergamo.

            

I will renew my passport, subject myself

to the ocean of airline indignities,

arrive exhausted at a changeover airport

bursting with more lines, security checks,

immigration, full-body x-rays, human chaos.

            

I’ve read of hijackings, the mass mayhem of guns,

and nations’ sovereignty. Wars have been fought

and tribes separated by tyrants, flags planted to claim

an arbitrary patch of earth, a different alphabet.

Elephants have crossed the Alps for this.

Islands and glaciers have merged, emerged

and disappeared into seas of fish and plastic.

            

Here’s a photo taken from space

of something not owned, miles beyond

gravity and greed. Globed blues and greens

shimmer through the cosmos, a topography

not of our making, turning slow on its axis, sea and land  

pas-de-deux to the inaudible music of the spheres.

Who wants anything less would do well

not to mend walls but lower them, stone by stone,

open meadows to whoever’s feet leads them there

to speak to their neighbors and sheep, to swap recipes,

books, hived honey, to share a sunset that drops

a purple cloak on our communal home.

            

Donna Pucciani, a Chicago-based writer, has published poetry worldwide in such journals as Shi Chao Poetry, Poetry Salzburg, ParisLitUp, Mediterranean Poetry, Acumen, and Journal of Italian Translation. Her seventh and most recent book of poems is EDGES.