low-angle photography of green grass


James Lowell
The long drought mocked of my intent 
To channel the nonexistent, flowing stream.

Still, imagining the farmer, the collapsing bridge
He built for his herd to cross over

What must have been a muddy mire,
Summoned an inner need to prepare.

I bought a culvert at the local hardware store,
The aproned man said could “conduct a downpour.”

Leaning into its dry, empty shell,
I heard the distant sound of rushing of water—

James Lowell currently spends most of his time bouncing between a remote, rugged island (winter population, 7 souls), in Buzzards Bay, Massachusetts, and the bustle of Miami’s Brickell neighborhood. His work was most recently short- and long-listed for the 2024 Fish poetry prize and has appeared in journals like Canadian LiteratureThe Caribbean WriterEnglishFortnightO MiamiMartha’s Vineyard TimesBorderlands: Texas Poetry ReviewThe Orchard Poetry Journal, and The Sandy River Review.