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I would call Hanna Osadko's new book of poems poetic stories tied with knots of memory, a kind of chronicle subtly highlighted by the heat of her poetic language. Most of these stories are told in a vague way, with details scattered throughout the text that testify to the solidity of the poetic images and the reality of their origin. Almost in every poem, one can feel the poetic friction between locality and universality, which creates a special, authorial seam of style. These are stories told through the mature eyes of childhood naivety, a strange combination of simplicity and depth, a desire to speak about the world using visual contacts with memory, with what constitutes the main impulse of poetry.