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.

 

 

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