appealing

The Maynard
Fall 2020

Andrew Lafleche
0:00
 
 

Identic

A fiddlehead sprung
in the first step of a fawn
this right side of April,
scarcely adjacent the city,
where the husbandry of more
comfortable illusions
find difficulty laying root.

Logy clouds ease the glare
a moment, releasing
shadow-bound vee’s in lies led—
Something not quite saccharine
tinting the air; a stilled voice
kicked up.
Maybe she’s always been calling.

A pair of mallards circle
             an infants mobile,
honking—
even they            are eager
to become repetitions.