by Richelle Buccilli

Cut apple, my son says.
He doesn’t understand the work of a blade,

why the male cardinal becomes September
in a tree, showing off his bold flame

like men on the street who whistle at me.
I always wanted a son. Now that I have,

how do I have a son and make him
the kind of man I want for a daughter?

Is it in the field of daisies I say to smell,
but not pick? Is it in my voice

as I comfort him, never demanding to be
a big boy, but instead yes, that hurt.

Is it the way he already knows to kiss
a baby doll made of plastic, her flimsy

eyelids and lashes shutting then opening
faster than seeing any wrong thing?

Maybe it’s in the love I want for myself.
The kind that holds promises like a child

does a pinecone. Small, and always wrapped
in a soft fist. Protecting, but never

diminishing. As if the child knows
something this primal can always be taken.

______________________________________________________________________

Richelle Buccilli holds a BA in Creative Writing and her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Rogue Agent, NELLE, Uppagus, Pittsburgh Quarterly, and Rattle, among others. She lives in Pittsburgh with her husband and son.

by Richelle Buccilli

The crackling of fire? No,
acorns that sound like footsteps,

animals in the trees. The other world
from which we stay grounded.

My son sifts through leaves
and sand, a yellow shovel

in his hand. What kind of thoughts
must he have? The kind of life

inside, behind trees? The maple
in our backyard, her strong bark

as we looked, searching for birds
or a squirrel, then the wind as if

moving my thoughts, an acorn
breaks the skin of my right hand:

how it mirrors the bumped
lines and bruising of the bark,

that tender layer, which, according
to my mother, can tell a lot about

a person, what kind of work they
do, how smooth or cracked, if

anything delicate is left—
Please tell me about mine.

I can’t distinguish from what’s both
a new gentleness and a brutal tolerance for love.

*This poem was a Finalist in the SWWIM For-the-Fun-of-It Contest.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Richelle Buccilli holds a BA in Creative Writing from Seton Hill University and her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Sweet Tree Review, Yes Poetry, The Main Street Rag, Rogue Agent, Wicked Alice, and elsewhere. She lives in Pittsburgh with her husband and son.