Tuesday 5 May 2020

1 Poem by Donna Puccinani


I heard a rabbi

on the radio talking of God,

the great Circle from which

we humans are not excluded

but dwell in our own

small circle inside.

Are we like eggs

laid by the God-woman

in a cosmic nest beyond

human making?

Thunder will call us forth

into the galaxy of Being.


will illumine our vision

for one split-second

of stellar wisdom,

the mysticism of unfulfilled

desire forever encased

in the divine. Love,

loneliness and astonishment

are our lot, ice and fire,

fact and fantasy, the benediction

of weeds and roses living together

in a secret garden, never touching.


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

No comments:

Post a Comment