to go into Julie Hensley's manageable isn't to step yet to plunge. . . With Hensley's advisor, we shuttle via deftly rendered landscapes of the good Plains and the agricultural South. We learn the language of horses and old figures. We probe marriage, miscarriage, childbirth, and child-rearing, "the issues humans plant to anchor themselves/ underneath quite a bit sky." We pay attention our personal fears and desires echoing again to us from the deeply human heart of this publication.
—Julie Marie Wade, writer of Postage Due: Poems & Prose Poems and while i used to be directly: Poems
In the wealthy and brilliant poems of potential, Julie Hensley jewelry the adjustments of a lady child’s existence, from driving stick-horses in her backyard in mammoth Stone hole to sexual discovery after 16 summers, to homesickness in her first house, then to like, marriage and, motherhood. the trail can be usual, yet none of it's easy, and there are sharp turns of grief and reckoning alongside the best way. Rooted within the traditional world—mountain, wasteland, prairie, seashore—and seeing herself as a creature between creatures, Hensley deals us phrases of existence in all its uncertainty, understanding that “Creation remains to be a present/ a yolk bobbing uncertainly/ inside of a delicate shell.”
—George Ella Lyon (Kentucky Poet Laureate 2015-2016), writer of Many-Storied House
In possible, Julie Hensley has woven a fantastically meditated existence, because the speaker turns into daughter, lady, author, lover, mom, and branches outward into the voices of old girls who proportion the soreness merely moms can. Sensual, intuitively musical, and awfully observant, those poems flip a perceptive lens at the flora and fauna and discover a non secular interconnectedness. Hensley’s poems exhibit how lifestyles crashes into us and during us, how now and then we think lifted through this typhoon, and at others we believe like we might be going lower than, or maybe occasionally either, corresponding to whilst the speaker after staying up all evening with a sobbing baby notices the “sun gradual / during the kitchen window: / a wafer / dissolving into morning.”
—Matt Rasmussen, Black Aperture, Winner of the Walt Whitman Award