requiem, jill osier.
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the snow (stands to my waist), (like) me (falls still) by Jill Osier
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These are the standing-water
weeks. Sliding gray skies
stall, and puddles lie more dull
for looking up. Lakes
shudder below gusts and stick out
their many chins. They cannot
be budged. All the world wants
is to be like winter
promised, but mortal
are the seasons, too. You are
tall, so tall, so
maybe you’ve never left
your body like this, standing in water
rising, the face islanded.
You Know It as Spring by Jill Osier
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Jill Osier - Small Town
[text id: Listen. The rug is wet because / I stood here. Because / it started pouring. Because / your door was open and I was / under a tree. Because / it was raining. Because the rain / and tree both / were in your backyard. Because / so was I. Because you / weren't home. Because I knew / you were bowling. Because / I walk your road. Because your road / goes by your house. Because / I felt like a walk. Because / it was going to rain. Because your door / is never locked. :end id]
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My thoughts fly ahead, swooping back to me out of breath. We have seen every edge, they say, and you were right.
Jill Osier
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Jill Osier - Small Town
Listen. The rug is wet because
I stood here. Because
it started pouring. Because
your door was open and I was
under a tree. Because
it was raining. Because the rain
and tree both
were in your backyard. Because
so was I. Because you
weren’t home. Because I knew
you were bowling. Because
I walk your road. Because your road
goes by your house. Because
I felt like a walk. Because
it was going to rain. Because your door
is never locked.
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A poem by Jill Osier
Small Town
Listen. The rug is wet because
I stood here. Because
it started pouring. Because
your door was open and I was
under a tree. Because
it was raining. Because the rain
and tree both
were in your backyard. Because
so was I. Because you
weren’t home. Because I knew
you were bowling. Because
I walk your road. Because your road
goes by your house. Because
I felt like a walk. Because
it was going to rain. Because your door
is never locked.
Jill Osier
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Lake Saganaga
And the whole time we fished, wishes
lined up the way shadows
refuse to. It ended up being the perfect time
for them to do this: we were all still
remembering ourselves as a family, and the light was
as it is when you trust it will hold, good enough
to know you may have had something
but lost it. Certainty always stands closest
to no thing we have.
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jill osier
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refuge by Jill Osier
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Everything became some kind of bird. Lovers
especially. And their conversations, their beds,
even the space between them, a bird. Some kind.
Some not so kind.
Then by Jill Osier
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do you have favourite poets? i think i often feel lonely because no one seems to love ‘mayakovsky’ by frank o’hara the same way i love it
sorry idk how long this has been in my inbox! in all honesty, i used to be very into poetry but my interest in it has waned quite a bit over the years—ironically, i don't have enough patience to read whole books of it anymore. :( however there are definitely individual poems that i love a lot, and poets whose writing i admire whether or not it comes in the form of poetry (i.e. margaret atwood, audre lorde, naomi shihab nye, hanif abdurraqib)...i do love frank o'hara though.
here are some favorite poems off the top of my head
dear portia by jenny boychuk
the way to keep going in antarctica by bernadette mayer
gretel in darkness by louise glück
the love that dares to speak its name by james kirkup
recuerdo by edna st. vincent millay
talking to helen by lisel mueller
anne sexton at the bookstore by jen rouse
love poem by linda pastan
i know a man by robert creeley
the gate by marie howe
small town by jill osier
miracle ice cream by adrienne rich
also, this prose poem by arkaye kierulf that blew my world wide open when i was twelve or thirteen
and my favorite frank o'hara poem is an image of leda. :)
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Hellooo 😌 current favourite poem? hope you manage some sleep soon <3
'Refuge' by Jill Osier:
I'll tell you this: I am the only part of winter left.
It beckoned and I followed, past all reason,
followed it like the end of a broken train
through white woods, and I stayed, with simple tools,
set on trying to construct more of a season. It has taken
all of me to do it, and you would not believe the storms.
You would not believe how I sleep. From here anything
would sound like a cry. Everything looks like pieces of God.
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tagged by @herawell
LAST SONG? Dilaudid by The Mountain Goats
FAVORITE COLOR? Recently I've been a purple fan, though rust red and like a sea glass green are close seconds
CURRENTLY WATCHING? I'm (slowly) listening to Wolf 359. In terms of media that I watch its mostly long video essays
LAST MOVIE? Annihilation! I watched it with @possumclawz as part of my horror movie marathon. we've watched like 6 body horror movies so far this year
SWEET/SPICY/SAVORY? They're all so important to me. Right now though I pick savory because I burned my tongue and acidic stuff hurts
RELATIONSHIP STATUS? i have a complicated relationship with romance but I have a qpp
CURRENT OBSESSIONS? Wolf 359 tho I got a bit burnt out. Fallout: New Vegas. Weird video games by queer ppl online
LAST THING YOU GOOGLED? On Google it's just Alana Maxwell because I needed a detail for a thing I'm working on. on Firefox it was the poem Small Town by Jill Osier
People I'd Like To Get To Know Better? @lemonioni
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