C.N.P Poetry 

  • Cathexis Northwest Press

allotment; housing a pregnant rabbit

By: Kaitlyn Airy


allotment


like the flowering stain on a blouse or a dog-eared book

you change me when I press thumb to sand

the frothing waters stir no whorl remains the thought

of amniotic fluid keeps me up at night can you hear

those tiny fingers the devouring mind is no different

you must cut the grain you must burn the fat chop

the wood consult clouds I spill a sack

of oranges on the table soft spheres a navel this deliberate

undressing when the ghost inside me looks back I taste

the tang of salt she had the right idea Edith

those galloping flames those writhing cities I lick

my plate clean sunlight through gauzy curtains small

gusts of air fir trees shiver in our yard starlings glimmer

like pools of oil tar-black & shiny green or magenta

ravaging the coneflowers I turn into a pillar of wifeliness

you close the window press into me to bruise

the fading rose to prune the withered vine

ours to take ours to toil you could kill me

with that ledger I can almost taste the wine






housing a pregnant rabbit


momma belly-flops on hardwood floor white muzzle chinning

oak shelves & smooth table scratching the sage green wall long toothed

snacking on The Plague existential tatters you can scare a rabbit

to death she’ll need that funnel-shaped hidey-hole shriveled

stubs of carrot flanks of straw that nice ukranian family

would like to know if we make stew american girl will eat

roast fish and pheasant but keep bunny indoors hysterical someday

I’ll find that wandering womb those shell-pink walls that long

tunnel tear out clumps of my own fur someday I will touch babies

with my human oils fearing matricide & what could be more human

what could be more american this constant hunger this quiet labor

those prying eyes







Kaitlyn Airy grew up in the San Juan Archipelago off the coast of Washington state. She attended Sarah Lawrence College and Gonzaga University, and currently lives in Spokane, Washington where she interns for the Bagley Wright Lecture Series on Poetry. In 2020 Elizabeth Austen selected her poem "DMZ" as the winner of the Phyllis L. Ennes Poetry Contest. She has work forthcoming in Crab Creek Review & elsewhere.