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About this poet

Jill Osier’s chapbook from won the Poetry Society of America’s 2017 Alice Fay Di Castagnola Award and is forthcoming from Bull City Press in 2018. She is also the author of the chapbooks Should Our Undoing Come Down Upon Us White (Bull City Press, 2013), winner of the 2013 Frost Place Chapbook Competition, and Bedful of Nebraskas (sunnyoutside, 2012). She lives in Alaska.

February

Sometimes a flag quietly appears
and leads one to a camp in the snow.
 
Oh, I am sick. I fade, I fall,
I curse this month, all it wants
 
to be. Its lot is the same
each time, unthawed.
 
Yet it taunts.
Dreamer month!
 
Another is just as warm,
as firm, as close to sweat and sigh
 
as I was, and this month
knows it. This month
 
sits close-lipped
and wise before the fire.

Copyright © 2018 Jill Osier. Used with permission of the author. This poem originally appeared in The Southern Review, Winter 2018.

Copyright © 2018 Jill Osier. Used with permission of the author. This poem originally appeared in The Southern Review, Winter 2018.

Jill Osier

Jill Osier

Jill Osier’s chapbook from won the Poetry Society of America’s 2017 Alice Fay Di Castagnola Award.

by this poet

poem
Soon the time when just roads and rivers
run dark in the white. Then they’ll be gone.
 
But during such days of path and vein
you’ll trace back how things became.
 
You’re standing in a curving lane of birches
with the word confidante
poem
Winter, friend, I get it. We are having a long talk 
and have just gotten into the thick of it.  
 
Days ago the signs were there.  
I was the only thing dark and moving 
 
through the white woods, and my leg kept leaving me
small grey commas
2
poem
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