Grove Elegy

by Matthew Leger

8 May 2026

Perhaps that trail of breath we left is still there: palmtreeing through placenta-summer, heaven of humid pressure, we grinned with sweat, eulogies to ourselves.

I’d wake to a skylight to holy sites distilled green our bulldozed grove an underworld of hopscotch, bluebonnet beds, and children, sparkling in crest of hose-stream.

Soon, I’d begin my lone ascension, butterflying years of operations in weeks: my iris-cowered, moth-calm, lunar-lowdown kept from you.

To be caught in the asking: a wet knot in the throat of a throat, curtailed skin, a cloud-tuned faucet, and a hand lying in its nails like a fetus.

about the author

Matthew Leger is an MFA Candidate at the University of Colorado Boulder. He is the recipient of the Andrew Julius Gutow Academy of American Poets Prize. His work has appeared in such publications as the Denver Quarterly, DON’T SUBMIT! and poets.org. Currently, he is the poetry editor at Timber. When he’s not writing, he’s likely holed up in his basement, recording music.

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