J.R. Bouchard grew up in upstate New York, but has since relocated all over the U.S. for school, teaching, and love. She received her MFA from Rosemont in Bryn Mawr, PA and has been teaching middle school and college English the last several years. She currently works for America SCORES, a non-profit centered around teaching youth poetry and soccer-- quite the combo, we know! Her poetry can be found in WordRiot, Foundling Review, Melee Live, Camroc Press Review, and others. When she's not writing, she's probably baking a babka or watching cat videos.
He is quietly curled on one
hip, one elbow. A man curled in half,
Twenty-eight. I rub his bottom
leaving all of my touch, soothing his near-sleep.
I didn’t know him then, but grin at his imagined
baby body, still rubbing. As his mother set him afloat
her river to mine, like Moses never orphaned.
Her first son. My first of all firsts. I accept
him over and over. Let the river pour over
my head, let it take over me—
let me drown in this moment.
Monday, June 2, 2014
6/9/14 Jess Bouchard featured
6/9/14 Jessie Bouchard