poems from Fire Sign
by Katherine Osborne
FIRE SIGN
I walk the property
inventing
trees one at a time
Be careful they say
No, you be careful
I say back.
—
Every possible horse is happening off the coast
of Iceland. Are friends starting to look closer?
I am downloading the earth until she’s face first
in forensic blue, the ocean starts right here where
the drifts get deeper. I can feel
Nova Scotia, her saltmarsh getting close where my
mouth accidentally. you keep handing me a
megaphone and then you say that’s just a cup
of water you don’t need to take a holiday in it.
I like when my sister talks about past lives.
I’m delirious with ideas because I want to be
another kind. I’m the one who can’t sleep
I can’t say paper cut without feeling it.
I can’t say anything without
feeling it. A circle ends and then
immediately begins oh god print
this out before it goes streaming live.
—
My son died. The stage is lit
with famous poets. I know
they are famous because
their sons died, too.
Now it’s August
Your hair on fire for him is a very old idea.
Let’s look through magazines. Take some
quizzes instead. I woke up
to the sound of cicadas
levitating into taller trees,
trees with their mouths open.
Last year is getting
expensive. I think
you both should walk through
the quiet mall on your hands, maybe your
hands and knees, and ask
what it was you wanted. And if
it’s done yet.
Katherine Osborne is the editor of Little River and the author of Fire Sign (Electric Cereal, 2015). Follow her on Tumblr and Twitter.
Electric Cereal is an indie press and online journal. Follow them on Twitter and Tumblr.