Tag Archives: Richard LeDue

Read about people going shopping during the pandemic, buying books, bed sheets, discounted Christmas wrapping paper, as if those were a measure of survival, while I watch the same naked birch as last year, knowing the leaves will return, only … Continue reading →

It’s easy to say “God only gives you what you can handle,” while my generation burns out like Christmas lights left plugged in all year. Memories of the grade two gifted program overcooked by faces bright with curiosity (switched on … Continue reading →

The ceiling dressed in darkness, rejects my memories of when Friday nights weren’t quiet, laughter never scared, sitting next to my best friend, who now sleeps in latex gloves, face mask, and whispers to me over the phone about hand … Continue reading →

A slammed door reminds you how loneliness is more than just being by yourself. It’s those silences after arguments about socks left on the floor, dishes only washed after using the last fork, TV too loud, apologies too quiet, Valentine … Continue reading →

Their teeth the same colour as naked death, smiling idiots in a made-for-TV Christmas movie – remote lost under cushions, only to be found with a sense of awe once meant for that poet who wrote that line, making one … Continue reading →

Pines are probably jealous of that leafless birch with nothing left to hide. Beneath its broken shade, old snow starts to melt. I try to sound sophisticated, say the sky is still as drying paint, brush in God’s back pocket; … Continue reading →

His fork scratches the plate beneath scrambled eggs, opposite chair empty. Carelessly poured ketchup used to make her nag him so much, but now no one notices. The waitress’s accent reminds him of the first time he paid for sex … Continue reading →