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Recorded for Poem-a-Day, December 8, 2017.
About this Poem 
"In New Hampshire in 2015 the snow just kept on coming. It was how winter seemed as a kid—and still seems: endless and generous and companionable. The poem is one of a series I think of as pelvis studies."
—Jill Osier
 

The Snow (Stands to My Waist), (Like) Me (Falls Still)

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 of ice seen coming back.  
 
This is a very long talk we’ve been having. My body already knew 
and began to make an important list.
 

Copyright © 2017 by Jill Osier. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on December 8, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets.

Copyright © 2017 by Jill Osier. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on December 8, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets.

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
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
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
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