The Letting
by Heather Bourbeau
People have become numbers, corridors are morgues
and we are mocked by the tenacious need of green to grow—
jade blossoms repel rain, my lemon tree’s grotesque fecundity,
my apple tree with patches of leaves, brown and golden, clinging
to branches that welcome the slow growth of lichen.
The soft rain a cleansing. Too trite a metaphor for this, this
broken dam of sorrow and relief pouring forth.
Some things cannot be forgiven. The cheapening of human life,
the persistence of oxalis, the failure to witness
when the lavender began to green.
I wake to a battle of squirrel and blue jay,
the leftover musk of skunk taunted by cat.
Above us, the conjunction is dissipating, but the wondrous
is not always this out of sight. This land, my fate
to be taught over and over again, I am not in control.
- Sundress Reads: Review of Under The Rain - May 6, 2026
- Project Bookshelf: Brianna Eaton - May 6, 2026
- Project Bookshelf: Tara Rahman - May 6, 2026
