December 1, 2022
Lies
The last of the wildflowers
stand like knights in a moat
on my woodstove,
cut by the sword
of a gentle flame
in a green grove.
When are they going
to harvest the corn?
The sun is so warm
he’s deceitful.
The horse sways its tail
at the remaining flies,
the lies autumn makes.
© the author
by Nancy Byrne Iannucci
Nancy Byrne Iannucci is a Long Island, New York native who currently lives in Troy, NY with her two cats: Nash and Emily Dickinson. Her poems have appeared in 34 Orchard, Defenestration, Hobo Camp Review, Bending Genres, The Mantle, Typehouse Literary Magazine, Bluebird Word, and Glass: a Poetry Journal. She is the author of three chapbooks, Temptation of Wood (Nixes Mate Review, 2018), Goblin Fruit (Impspired, 2021), and Primitive Prayer (Plan B Press, fall 2022); she is also a teacher, and woodland roamer. Visit her at www.nancybyrneiannucci.com Instagram: @nancybyrneiannucci