Figs
in memory of Tonino Papalino
My newfound cousin Tonino,
his breathing not yet labored,
descended the stone steps
of his Calabrian villa to pick figs
from his garden, to carry them up
in a basket for our hungry mouths.
Green for hope.
Red for love,
a fruited valentine.
He fed us foreigners
with little soundless bells,
no clappers but mute seeds,
no music but juices to bless
our strangers’ tongues.
And Cousin Pasquale laughed,
told us to peel,
not cut.
Donna Pucciani, a Chicago-based writer, has published poetry worldwide in such diverse journals as Poetry Salzburg, Istanbul Literary Review, Shi Chao Poetry, Journal of Italian Translation, and Acumen. Her work has been translated into Italian, Chinese, Japanese, and German. She has been nominated numerous times for the Pushcart Prize and has won awards from the Illinois Arts Council, the National Federation of State Poetry Societies, Poetry on the Lake, and other organizations. Former Vice President of the Poets Club of Chicago, her seventh and most recent collection of poems is Edges (Purple Flag, 2016).