2 Poems–Samuel Piccone

Downtown Denver

A watermelon in heat,
growing from a branch in the sky.

The melting bough
like an archer’s bow,

too tense to prevent
the red pop,

the crash of flesh & seed.
An ugly fruit turned

outward for the sidewalk to see,
for the people too frantic to speak,

who cannot help but watch
the blossom of things.


Breathing in Eastern Colorado

The open mouth of a cloud
begins to inhale—

meadowlarks in prairie grass
taste the staleness, the damp

tongue that extends from above.
A dribble of spittle snaps off

and smashes the ground,
finding the groove

in furrow and grinding itself in.
A tiny place to hide and expand.

Growing out in a circle that drips,
a fog so green the grass looks

up and sees itself,
smoothes its hair, says,

“hot damn, I’m looking good,”
and gives a wink as

the cloud breathes out
and the prairie meets itself in the sky.

SAMUEL PICCONE is a recent graduate from the M.A. Writing and Publishing program at DePaul University in Chicago. His work has appeared in publications including Silverthought Press, Threshold, Leveler, and Forge. He currently resides in Colorado and enjoys writing songs and the challenge of maintaining a vegetable garden while owning a dog that strives to be a strict vegetarian.

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