Heather Bourbeau



if i slow


           slow down

if i sit or pause or breathe

           long enough

i will feel,

the weight of air on skin,

the pain of your body’s echo,

           the hunger

to remember

to slow




cool desert dawn through pyramids

built by the dying


the sweet non-taste

of snowflakes before

your breath mixed with mine


the invisible pattern

your lips left on my back,

my nape, my haunch


if i slow


my diving beetle heart

slow hardened longing

           slow the turn

toward you


i may forget

i felt something

i may lose

           the urge

to learn you again

and be left

with the slow




Heather Bourbeau wrote the poetry collection Daily Palm Castings, has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and has worked for the UN peacekeeping mission in Liberia and UNICEF Somalia.


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