I Still Don’t Know The Date Of His Death

Courtney LeBlanc


Each night I curl

up under a blue and white

blanket, printed with sheep, that was his.

It’s the best

in the house, this slightly


blanket, the perfect

weight and size.


His son taught me to play


our board a piece of solid

steel, carved

from a submarine. He is much better

at math than I am and so we play

slowly as I count my points,

move my pegs.


They say he dropped

straight to his knees and paused,

his big heart failing

to pump as he pitched

forward, arms folding

beneath him,

face kissing steel.


The board and the blanket

are the two things

he has, one soft and comforting,

the other hard and cold.

Both hold memories I’ll never

unlock, no matter how many

naps I take under it or how many

times I circle the board, my pegs

slowly plodding forward, even if

I never win.



Courtney LeBlanc is the author of chapbooks Siamese Sisters and All in the Family (Bottlecap Press) and is an MFA candidate at Queens University of Charlotte. Her poetry is published or forthcoming in Public Pool, Rising Phoenix Review, The Legendary, Germ Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Brain Mill Press, and others. She loves nail polish, wine, and tattoos. Read her blog at www.wordperv.com, follow her on twitter: www.twitter.com/wordperv, or find her on Facebook: www.facebook.com/poetry.CourtneyLeBlanc. 

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