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?

 

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