GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO, 1313-1375
In air arranged by bees, the honied sting
Stuck to Boccaccio, made him scratch his life
And bleed it on a page, gold-leafed labor
Producing volumes: prose, winged verse, critiques.
With The Decameron, mortality
Realized it had to leave this B alone.
Like Calandrino — —third tale, the eighth day — —
"Mouth hunter" never would just disappear.
One hundred stories: Florentine dessert
Preserved by honey's words uncombed to soothe
Plague-driven years. His other work expired,
Stung by unmanaged death, reputation
No richer for the weight of its sweet breadth.
Native New Yorker LindaAnn LoSchiavo, a Pushcart Prize, Rhysling Award, and Dwarf Stars nominee, is a member of SFPA and The Dramatists Guild. Elgin Award winner "A Route Obscure and Lonely" and "Concupiscent Consumption" are her latest poetry titles. Forthcoming: "Women Who Were Warned," a chapbook (Cerasus Poetry, U.K.) and a full collection (Beacon Books). She has been leading a poetry critique group for two years. https://linktr.ee/LindaAnn.LoSchiavo