Blowing Bubbles with my Two-Year Old
Enraptured—
the invocation of bubbles—
the pop.
Nothing into something
into nothing.
Each ascension
of soapy iridescence
is hallowed
My daughter's eyes
confirm the miracle. Her finger
blesses those it cannot touch
and those it can
become breath.
I thought this poem was beautifully written and I picture a father, even like a new father, watching this little girl blowing bubbles and taking such joy in it. It's a poem that I think conveys the father daughter bond and how you can be so moved by something so insignificant. The poem was from the journal Paper Street. The Paper Street Press's goal (as stated in the preface) is to "provide a new outlet for fiction sure of its history and footing, poetry unencumbered by distraction." I thought this poem exemplified that goal.
Nothing into something
into nothing.
Each ascension
of soapy iridescence
is hallowed
My daughter's eyes
confirm the miracle. Her finger
blesses those it cannot touch
and those it can
become breath.
I thought this poem was beautifully written and I picture a father, even like a new father, watching this little girl blowing bubbles and taking such joy in it. It's a poem that I think conveys the father daughter bond and how you can be so moved by something so insignificant. The poem was from the journal Paper Street. The Paper Street Press's goal (as stated in the preface) is to "provide a new outlet for fiction sure of its history and footing, poetry unencumbered by distraction." I thought this poem exemplified that goal.
No comments:
Post a Comment