Poems
by Richard
LeDue
We Can Never Be Sure
The grey sky doesn’t cry
for me or you,
but for some reason
we can never be sure of
like if there’s a god
or who invented funerals
long enough ago
to make us feel
more like a well-craft crescendo,
rather than another sad song
that’ll eventually
be forgotten.
Somehow, It’s All Connected
The cello is mourning someone,
even if the music was written
before I was born,
before my grandmother packed
a dark dress away
in an old grocery bag
for when her liver finally gave up
drinking, and my own bottles
of whisky stand quietly
and unopened now
like people trying not to cry
at a funeral.
The Opposite of Silence
Death might tap dance
on our graves,
or do a romantic waltz
with our corpses,
but either way,
that means
there should be music
somewhere,
playing eternally.
