Descansos – poems – Katherine Osborne

Descansos
poems, Katherine Osborne
salò press (2018)

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~ A red snow boot was carried out by the tide. -from (mid-swim savannah)

Listening is as listening mourns. In Descansos, Katherine Osborne memorializes with voice the sound that suddenness might make if blessed by longevity. How stirring, this outsider’s verse of inclusion. In which vault is our safekeeping? What is quieter than a moment of silence? There are asks, in this work, that will make you breathe under your breath. Osborne has command of occurrence, and gives the subtle order that whatever happens be randomly stunned. I am not sure what answers Osborne has gotten, but am glad for the auditing, overdue as it is, of grief’s word choice. If our passage has come to mean how bored we are in vehicles both idle and moving, Descansos takes our vacant stare for an absent glimpse and marks itself with vision.

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reflection by Barton Smock

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book is here:
https://salopress.weebly.com/store/p39/Descansos_-_Katherine_Osborne.html

{editors, arrows, Katherine Osborne}

i.

asking is the only praise I worship. every squeal comes from the same tire. this means outside. is there anything

the no longer
kidnapped

miss? traffic.

ii.

really what we wanted to say is that one of us was rereading a book of poems and there was nothing in the book about the chicken or the egg or the woman or the ship and it made the rest of us want to name something after the man on all fours who gave god an idea.

iii.

“When they see me get up
to walk toward you
It’s as if their little sister
left a group of campers
to gather sticks
in a night that considers
us over and over”

Katherine Osborne, from the collection Fire Sign

iv.

horse, deer. anything that, alongside, evokes. I went underground and had nowhere to go but up after kissing a missile silo. the apocalypse is a joke. I told it once.

v.

for, after, or before Katherine Osborne

[domain]

falsehoods
I was sure
to say
to a horse, things like
god is sending
his middle
child
to collect
a drop
of my daughter’s
blood, or

it’s a sin
to be
1989, things I felt

I owed
the horse, that were
horse-like
in their stillness, that went
nowhere
when nowhere
was

come fly
or flat
earth

the dark’s
bitch

vi.

FIRE SIGN
poems by Katherine Osborne
Electric Cereal, 2015

http://www.electriccereal.com/bookstore/fire-sign-by-katherine-osborne/