James Owens

The Southernmost Reach of the Last Ice Age, Not Yet of the Next

Junipers sheathed in ice click and whisper their old ghost talk,
as the winter day hovers between storm and storm.

Refugee aspen and hemlock flank Blue Ridge muskeg.
I'm writing in the lee of a boulder, a small calm

and an illusory warmth, far from the clamor of history.
Here is civilization: wisp of steam from the thermos,

pen and paper shielded a while from the tough little squalls.
Mine is the mountain's only mortal breath, except for juncos

and three shaggy ponies that walk out from the trees
to scrape for the moss that still lives under the snow.

The wind-chill must be ten below, but I'm not in the wind.

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James Owens's newest book is Family Portrait with Scythe (Bottom Dog Press, 2020). His poems and translations appear widely in literary journals, including recent or upcoming publications in Channel, Arc, Dalhousie Review, Queen's Quarterly and The Honest Ulsterman. He earned an MFA at the University of Alabama and lives in a small town in northern Ontario.