HEATHER BOURBEAU

History and the Past are Not the Same

I have loved in countries that no longer exist.
Their names lost to divisions and mergers
and the fading memories of those of us
who once believed in demarcations.
 
I have woken scream stifled,
sweat between breasts, heart like a deer.
All scars not visible, all versions
not told or true.
 
I have seen the wild turkeys return,
fly onto my roof, eat grubs on lawns
of police stations, unaware
they don’t belong here.
 
My grandfather would salt fruit
“to bring out the sweetness” he said.
But I seek honey to sweeten the brine,
water to wash us clean.

Heather Bourbeau’s work has appeared in 100 Word Story, Alaska Quarterly Review, The Kenyon Review, Meridian, The Stockholm Review of Literature, and SWWIM. She is the winner of La Piccioletta Barca’s inaugural competition and the Chapman Magazine Flash Fiction winner, and has twice been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She has worked with various UN agencies, including the UN peacekeeping mission in Liberia and UNICEF Somalia. She lives among the sage and fog.