Charlemagne – a poem by Nancy Byrne Iannucci


Oh, father of Europe,
purveyor of Christianity,
father to me, Gisela-
you cherished us, all eighteen,
your daughters explicitly,
a smothered spinster like
my sisters, I write in
Carolingian minuscule
to reveal I’m broken,
a lost little girl who
cannot hold a shield without feudal circles,
cannot mingle without manors,
multiple wives & multiple mistresses,
you left me wary of men.
Alcuin taught me the skies,
I treasured the constellations
in his eyes, and for that he called
me Delia, nothing more,
You would not allow it,
You would not allow me,
and so I’m preserved
in his poetry,
and in this poem,
living on, but
never lived.


Nancy Byrne Iannucci is a historian from Troy, NY. Her work is published in numerous publications including Riggwelter, Three Drops from a Cauldron, Typehouse Literary Magazine, Allegro Poetry Magazine, Gargoyle, and Autumn Sky Poetry Daily. Her first book of poetry, Temptation of Wood, was recently published by Nixes Mate Review.

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