Poems
by Richard
LeDue
Fuel
Cleaning up a dusty violin
you haven’t played in years,
only to notice the varnish
has darkened,
and remembering forgotten lessons
teaches you
how unsteady you’ve become
without using any words
that disappear
like kindling inside a fire
we’re afraid to let go out.
Backstory
Making up a genealogy
with some ancient Greeks or Romans
because that sounds more grandiose
than a great grandfather
from Saint Pierre and Miquelon,
who was a schoolteacher
and left land to my grandfather,
who never went back
to claim it.
Beneath Complaints About the Weather
Feeling the cool air
of an autumn morning
whisper things about tomorrow
that are too easy to ignore
beneath complaints
about the weather,
but are closed windows really
the answer to feelings
older than anyone
alive?
