poetry Our Revels
By Donna Pucciani
now are ended,
the era of four seasons: mild summers
fraught with simmering humidity
but nothing that couldn’t be cured
by lemonade under a shady elm
or a walk on the beach. And nights
would always cool a bit, the hum
of a window fan sweeping through
the bedrooms of sleeping children.
A harvest moon shone orange
from autumn’s brush, not toxic
particles at play. Winters birthed
snow angels and snowball fights,
a day off from school, when six inches
was memorable and hurricanes
never hit New York. Spring
sugared the air with a gradual
sweetness. A tornado was remarkable.
Gulping the elixir of gasoline,
cars became vans that took us to work,
to the everyday gatherings of friends,
to cross-country trips and Sunday visits
to Uncle Tony and Aunt May.
And now we mourn the temperate days
of patio beers, of barbecues on the deck.
We miss the shorelines of cool waves
now turned to burning froth,
swallowing New York, inching over Miami.
We ask ourselves why,
as oilmen laugh on their yachts
in water too hot for swimming.
Donna Pucciani, a Chicago-based writer, has published poetry worldwide. Her work has been translated into Chinese, Japanese and Italian, and has won awards from the National Federation of State Poetry Societies, the Illinois Arts Council, Poetry on the Lake, and others. Her latest book of poetry is EDGES.