Review of “Looks a Little Like”

Looks a Little Like by Daniela Buccilli

God is smiling with the birds; a child is drawing,
the sky is blue in the drawing and there is a brown mountain
and a patch of orange flowers hunching low and together,
cradled by a garnish of green tufts. The family of people
are lined up shoulder to shoulder with each other and each
body is a different size of stick. Anyone looking, anyone fair,
can see they are about to hold hands and dance
their peculiar traditional dance, one that you and I
have never seen quite like that, but how couldn’t we
recognize what it is they do? And there is a tree,
its canopy both flat and full where a nest
of must-be-baby robins wait for the goulash they want,
and the family of people have their warm house
where undoubtedly a dog sleeps by the fire
that once was a hearth and then the stove
and then a television and now this house has it all,
and nothing is burning except apple and cedar contained
in the kind hands of a firebox, capped with a photo-full mantel
of all their dears, some in old-fashioned flower frames
of the ones who are dead and in heaven. If there are candles,
they were put there by the adult children and only lit
in the late evening after the little ones were read to,
and not out of superstition and not sarcastically
and nobody’s thinking about it too hard and carefully.
The craft and game table still has the dinner plates
scraped with little left but a small stash of peas, like coins
from the littlest one, and the tumblers are clear
of the clearest water that still clings to the sides,
a kind of dew of nostalgia for the air, and in the drawing
the air is neither dry or humid, neither on fire
or flooded, the wind is without its usual rage.
As soon as we look away, they will go
about their business of doubt and work,
wondering about money, the purpose of this life,
and if they were ever loved or beautiful.

This poem is a meditation on innocence, family, and the quiet complexities of everyday life, framed through the lens of a child’s drawing. At first glance, the imagery is simple and familiar: a blue sky, a brown mountain, orange flowers, a family standing together, and a nest of baby robins waiting to be fed. The scene is peaceful, even idyllic—until the poem begins to subtly acknowledge what lies beneath this surface of warmth and tradition.

The poem’s greatest strength is its ability to layer meaning through contrast. The child’s drawing captures an uncomplicated world where nature is harmonious, and family is united. Yet, as the poem unfolds, it acknowledges the realities beyond the drawing—the way time changes a home, the way traditions shift, the way even in warmth and safety, doubts and worries persist. The closing lines are particularly poignant, reminding us that beyond the still life of this idealized scene, the people within it will return to their human concerns: money, purpose, and love.

The language is rich with sensory detail, making the poem feel both tangible and nostalgic. The “firebox” burning apple and cedar, the “tumblers… clear of the clearest water,” and the “small stash of peas, like coins” left on the plate all contribute to a setting that feels deeply lived-in. These images are not grand or dramatic, but they carry an emotional weight that lingers. The drawing itself, a child’s vision of the world, becomes a metaphor for both the simplicity we long for and the complexities we cannot escape.

Overall, this poem is beautifully reflective, skillfully balancing warmth and melancholy. It reminds us that even in our most cherished spaces, the undercurrents of life—uncertainty, loss, hope—remain ever-present.