Katelyn Oppegard
Least of All Place
This dwelling is
A ficus
black and spiny
spider filled
brain to thousands
and conscious
if left to dig up roots
plenty of seeds
besieged
stuffed into the dirt
planted in throats
a sapling
a darling
toppling me headfirst
This dwelling is
A wrong
a doing
a turn
coming from all states
away to roost
until sprung
cells open and crawling
between membranes
among the gravel
what is allowed when
these things are policed
by feet
impacting teeth
This dwelling is
A body
lit from the joists
in a spark
too deep that starts
fire in the rot
black mold
black smoke
back boned
still standing
a hard boiled shell
is a fragile thing
to be peeled away
to belly
This dwelling is
An engine
rumbly and grumbly
power at submission
transit at pistons
combustion is a hunger
and hunger is a need
to admit that is to flay
and to flay is to
leave your bones
at the hands of another
That I do willingly
to block is to obstruct
to block is to raise
to block is to burn
to block is too many things
none of them a constraint
to lie is to fail to turn over
This dwelling is
A gigabyte
squared to a T
perfect angles
leveled against
slanted shingles
this metrics
should
collapse
should fold
into
thirds
to be postmarked
and sent away
(I’ve kissed it for you
fore luck)
left in the drive of a
deadened hole
land filled and
water logged
This dwelling is
Brought forth
opening from open lengths
unspooling in loops
tape held to light
soaked and
washed down with
hair between toes
this is an absolute love
a reverence
seen for what it is
more gently than other things that
never were
the difference being in the towing
of the difference
a subtraction
a subduction
a subsumption
one with the walls
won without doubt
so please sleep here
among my many rugs
warm with the heat of many coals
a residue
honned
to reside inside a choice
to linger
to still
Speech Rot
If all of this is true
violets is a silence
and hurt is crust
To cut teeth : to slice gums
bone to air
It is acceptable
to turn the body inside out this way
The day lily unfurls by the hour
to expire by the moon
but if our skin were to slough
our bodies to peel
to open
We’d die
The nature of things is
non ⎸
⎸universal
Bring the world in to guts
steep me in earth as the world has wasted in us
stewing takes time
it will macerate
it will dye
It will change the currant
seeds
They Were Forced to Imagine it Through a Prism
paperweight singularity
bagging a spectrum an optics of torsion sand twisted
to
glass torqued
to
light
a pebble the size of an egg
a hummingbird
or an ostr i c h
is a shell the same
whipped to cream milked to peaks
cotton and chiffon and linen and lace
down to the bone
no matter the change I am spared
like gypsum fine milled to alabaster
porcelain
over
calcium
over
rice
over easy
a pebble rolled to pearl
a snowball inside
a rock is a miracle in itself
yet every time it snows the air smells the same
and the bootfeel crunches the same
and fingers numb the same
and ears and noses blister the same
and banks pile and will soon melt in the same
and now same
sounds different
and daisied
and distant
to repeat
to peel over
the shells and skins
of our feet
to heal
scarlet endings rusty mornings
chilled cinnamon spiced heart(s)beat(s)
rosy goodbyes
currant salmon peachy keen
blush brush blood brick
all my lips
are open and tongued
ruby ringed and
merlot muscled
w I d e
I’d watched the sun rise in hibiscus clouds
vermillioned latitude across burgundy bellies
crimson carmin cardinals
I’d clip wings
the release
is amaranth
d
ripped from healing
welcomed
winged
these joined joists to dovetailed
elevation
underbrush and old growth thicketed
calves thickening
quicked to olive pits
a parakeet eats a pickle and is dilled on the spot
and it’s refreshing
it's lime soaked and sage smoked
a snake without legs is not a nightmare
and the earth is overrun
with thyme
with mint
with basil
with parsley and
rosemary and
pear of pine
the snails have come
home
all of this to say the forecast changes by the day
barometer drops
rain drops
curtains fall
ponds spill over with frogs and garbage brimming with sponges soaked the
same with mud
all of this to say the deed buried beneath a forest fire is of our unmaking
it is Tuesday
the second day
all of this to say I love my life today
Katelyn Oppegard is a Seattle poet. The Seattle part is important because that is where she made all her friends and the poet part is important because that is how she learned what friendship is.