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About this poet

Jill Osier is the author of the chapbooks Should Our Undoing Come Down Upon Us White (Bull City Press, 2014), winner of the 2013 Frost Place Chapbook Competition, and Bedful of Nebraskas (Sunnyoutside, 2012). She lives in Alaska.

Siberian

On the day they killed the last caribou,
I was in love—and I did not know
caribou or cities or the needs of either.

I did not know scilla, and did not know a new love
would be hired to trim the grass around it. The blue flowers
came up through the grass like the grass remembering.

This new love and I, we drove once between cities of snow,
and through the trees I could see a herd moving,
matching us, pulling away.

Copyright © 2017 Jill Osier. Used with permission of the author. This poem originally appeared in The Southern Review, Summer 2017.

Copyright © 2017 Jill Osier. Used with permission of the author. This poem originally appeared in The Southern Review, Summer 2017.

Jill Osier

Jill Osier

Jill Osier is the author of the chapbooks Should Our Undoing Come Down Upon Us White (Bull City Press, 2014) and Bedful of Nebraskas (Sunnyoutside, 2012).

by this poet

poem
Folks would talk about it,
and even after I lived
in that mountain town
months, a year, even after
getting close with the girl
from the pharmacy,
guys from the woods, I did
not know.

I waited to somehow divine
what it was. Be invited. Still
I imagine a great expanse,
a meadow, high above the town,
of tiny
poem
Not every day but most days that summer

I went calmly and quietly and climbed

to the sixth floor of the library and walked

not fast and not slow but with purpose

down the last row and reached

almost without looking to the same

place on the shelf and pulled out

the large book and carried it to a chair