Applause
/Donna Pucciani
Today all things are possible.
Berries become birds.
Daylilies become nighthawks.
Skunks become roses, roses lions.
Grudges morph into affection,
walls melt into bridges.
A loaf of old bread becomes caviar.
Shakespeare becomes Nancy Drew,
the Hardy Boys now Virginia Woolf.
But there is no miracle, Alessandro,
like the day you learned to clap.
Putting your baby hands together
once, twice, three times, amazed
at how they obey your silent desire
to imitate the grownups, you applauded me
for doing absolutely nothing but
being your ancient auntie, turned angel,
my blinking eyes becoming wings.
Author’s Note: I have just returned from a month in Madrid, where I was helping my American niece, a freelance writer, and her Spanish husband, a teacher, with their sixteen-month-old baby Alessandro. The poem was written some months ago, before he had even learned to walk. During this last visit, we have continued to bond, reading books together, going in his stroller to and from the nursery, and chasing each other in the park. I do not know when I will see him again, or on which continent. I live, always, between ecstasy and heartbreak, as the poem suggests.
Donna Pucciani, a Chicago-based writer, has published poetry worldwide in Shi Chao Poetry, Poetry Salzburg, ParisLitUp, Mediterranean Poetry, Li Poetry, Agenda, Journal of Italian Translation, and others. Her seventh and most recent book of poetry is EDGES.
