Marc Huerta Osborn


Marc Huerta Osborn is a Mexican-American writer from the East Bay Area with serious questions about inheritance, language, trauma, and love. In his poems, he plumbs the depths of intergenerational trauma and amnesia, but also explores the ways that art empowers us to fit the fragments of a broken past back together into new, hopeful wholes. He has published poetry and prose in collaborations with artists incarcerated at San Quentin, teaches creative writing to youth of all ages, and has had his poetry featured in Rust and Moth.


at midnight her sighs will make harp sounds: the waves

will burrow through cold ground and spaceless

miles, to the place where tides are born.

I could taste it the first time you loosed opal

rowers out across the moon

waters; how as paddles they flashed

ghost feathers, ablaze in mercury.

stalks of steam, sunflower blossoms, surface tension

of shimmering pools—shadows

dance against the curtains.

just before dawn the rowers settled into reefs, their oars burned

down to the grips. sulfur smoke curled into the

cradle of my tongue. craters, fading from sight,

became your eyelids, alumbrados por la aurora.

            gasps decline from flight to pupil

                        puddle, reflecting two needles stitching

            starwork to glass, over and over again,

                        inching in phase, gas

            to solid, each split second spent stirring awake.

                        did you see the rowers?

© The Acentos Review 2020