Sara Letourneau

Moose Hill Street Lullaby

Am I awake or dreaming? Some days, it’s hard
to know when I’m driving down this street.

Winding, serpentine, for two-and-a-half miles it leads me
away from Route 95’s choke hold of traffic as I commute to work.

This morning is one such morning. It’s been three weeks
since I last slept a full night, and in these early days of autumn

the falling maple seeds remind me of the nature of my thoughts,
tailspinning but never crashing because the earth retreats

farther and farther away. It’s a violent vigilance, this anxiety,
yet so deceptively quiet that no one knows I’m suffering

unless I tell them so. But the trees on this street, their leaves
barely touched by the ocher of September—they know.

So do the cows grazing in the fields, the walking paths lacing
through the woods, the ivy scaling oaks and telephone poles.

Even the manmade things—houses new and historical,
a meadow of solar panels, hissing high-tension lines—

they whisper as I pass, saying, You are safe. This is not a dream.
I want so badly to linger here, to pull over the car, curl up

among the roots or in a small cave and hibernate until spring.
Instead, I reach the end of the street, exhale to relieve the drowsy ache

from my eyes, and know I’ll be back tomorrow for more
of this street’s lullaby until I remember how to sing my own again.






Sara Letourneau is a poet and freelance book editor / writing coach who lives in Massachusetts. In addition to past issues of Soul-Lit, her poems have appeared in or are forthcoming in Constellations, Amethyst Review, Mass Poetry’s Poem of the Moment, Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene, Golden Walkman Magazine, and The Aurorean, among others. You can read more of her work online at