Portside

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.