In a different poem, I might tell you
            the boy chases the soap bubbles as if gathering

shades of blue and silver for an Annunciation,
            but not in this one,

where I don’t want to say
            that the bubbles are like anything else.

They are enough delight. They gleam, riding
            the sunlit drafts of early spring …

* poem, in its entirety, is available in the printed version of the current issue


Bio:

James Owens’ most recent book is Family Portrait with Scythe (Bottom Dog Press, 2020). His poems and translations appear widely in literary journals, including recent or upcoming issues of Grain, the Dalhousie Review, Presence, and the Honest Ulsterman. He lives in a small town in northern Ontario.

Article tags