Poetry By Nancy Byrne Iannucci

        kooikkari CC




Dry Well
               -at William Cullen Bryant’s house, Cedarmere.

I’m mad at the sun & the blue sky
for making my well run dry

But the bumblebee is still fat & clumsy 
And people still ask me if William’s home,
I tell them he’s rarely here.
I gave up my usual porch seat to an old man,
and walked down like a stream to the bay.

Everything shifts & changes-
constant shouldn’t exist as a word.

A butterfly flew into my face as a case in point.
She’ll be dead in a month.

the birds will still sing as they usually do, 
but eventually they, too, will be different birds,
the next generation birds,
taught the same songs over worms.

A lone morning glory looks up at me from a bushy marsh,
not afraid to bloom alone.
I follow the path next to her, a path I never knew existed
two swans were resting together. 
the male hissed and honked and shook his head at me,

everything I saw from that moment on lined the bay in pairs: 
two trees, 
two men on a bench, 
two garbage bins,
Two women at a picnic table–
Eight two line couplets.
They’re enjoying their rhymes while they can
until they become that lone morning glory

mad at the sun & the blue sky
for making the well run dry.





Taking Back Eden  
 
I’m not going to mow the grass.
I’m going to water the weeds.
 
I’m not going to wear tight jeans.
I’m going to strip and breathe. 
 
I’m going to run to the woods.
I’m going to release Eve.
 
I’m going to take back Eden.
I’m going to dismantle the wooden gate.
 
I’m going to let in the beasts.
We’re going to eat everything.
 
We’re going to share the apples.
We’re going to sing with snakes.
 
We’re going to swing from trees
We’re going to sleep with ease.
 
We’re not going to succumb-
control will never come.





This is What I Ask My Students Who Wear Thrasher Hoodies to My Class:

Do you know 

what a 

           boneless

No comply
​
        swellbow

nose bump

         deathbox

drop in

        big spin

 wallie

        bump-to-bar

kingpin
                                   
       flat spot

switch flip 

       feeble

casper

     front blunt

primo

      hill bomb are?  

              No?  

I thought so, 

             wearing Thrasher hoodies 

only for the flames.

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Nancy Byrne Iannucci is a widely published poet from Long Island, New York who currently lives in Troy, NY.   Defenestration, Hobo Camp Review, Bending Genres, The Mantle, Typehouse Literary Magazine, Bluebird Word, Glass: a Poetry Journal are some of the places you will find her. She is the author of two chapbooks, Temptation of Wood (Nixes Mate Review, 2018), and Goblin Fruit (Impspired, 2021); she is also a teacher, and woodland roamer. Visit her at www.nancybyrneiannucci.com  Instagram: @nancybyrneiannucci
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