When I can’t get into you,
I get into a white magnolia tree,
where the Northern Flicker pecks & pecks above me
without severing a branch. I listen to its knocks
like the knocks in my head, thinking of the days ahead
and unanswered questions. I examine its leaves like tasseomancy,
following its veins, running with it, like the veins that run through us.
I see bits of gold, a trail of corn silk that the deer have left behind,
leading to a secret thicket. All I know is that it feels safe there,
safe with you, despite unanswered questions.
Nancy Byrne Iannucci is a New York-based writer and author of four chapbooks. A two-time Best of the Net nominee, she was short-listed for the 2025 Poetry Lighthouse prize. Her work appears in Thrush, Maudlin House, and 34 Orchard. She lives in upstate NY with her three cats. Web: www.nancybyrneiannucci.com IG: @nancybyrneiannucci