This morning, searching
for what fell from me last night
while we danced barefoot,
I crawl through grass on my knees,
silk dress darkening with dew.
Each blade I part holds
its perfect sphere of water,
catching light
when my fingers comb through,
seeking silver that mattered.
The earring cost more
than I wanted to admit,
but it was the last gift
from someone who’s gone now,
and losing it feels like losing twice.
The grass speaks only
in the syntax of soaking:
my knees, my pressed palms,
the hem that will never quite
recover from searching.
Instead I find a bubble wand,
forgotten in the dancing,
plastic circle wet
with the same dew that holds me.
For a moment I just stare—
this cheap toy from a party bag,
abandoned in joy,
found in grief,
both of us soaked through.
I blow through its ring.
Bubbles form, each one holding
my garden inside—
fence and roses and my form,
brief as what I came to find.
They catch morning light
differently than the earring would have,
throw rainbows silver never could—
prism instead of mirror,
transformation instead of reflection.
This toy I didn’t know
I was searching for
worth more than what I lost.
-Ashley Parker Owens
Ashley Parker Owens is a poet and artist living in Richmond, Kentucky, where she creates poetry videos and continues exploring the relationship between biological existence and spiritual understanding. She earned an MFA in Creative Writing from Eastern Kentucky University.
Learn more at https://www.ashleyparkerowens.com.
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