Poetry: Oregon Hill Series

Oregon Hill

Words by Kaylin Kaupish
QuailBellMagazine.com

*Editor's Note: The following poems are about Richmond, Virginia's own Oregon Hill neighborhood. Richmond is very close to us, Fledglings, as we began our journey there. We hope you enjoy these poems as insight into the quirky, beautiful city they came from.  Additionally, "Cat Skull"  appeared in the Ilk and Kin zine by  Maya White-Lurie. 

​CAT SKULL
 
I found a cat skull in the field by the graveyard
held it close I would see every tooth every curve
of the jaw the gap where the eyes had been
my father said the rain had washed away all the life now
only a unresponsive stone remained it was light
in my hands almost like it wasn’t there wasn’t real
I took it home put it in our china cabinet where I kept

 
all of my treasures the stone that looked like it was smiling
the feather of the red-tailed hawk the sharks teeth
I had spent hours on the beach searching for them
with my mother she was better at finding them than me
the china cabinet had a picture of my sister and I
I wore blue she wore yellow and our room was always blue
and yellow with white lace curtains that we liked to hide behind
at night to look out the window and touch our cheeks on the glass
the glass was always cold even in the summer
 
my sister broke the glass one night by accident
crystals covered her thin yellow hair like a crown she froze
didn’t move until father got every piece out she didn’t cut
herself mother called it a miracle
 
my sister kept two pieces of the glass she though
they were beautiful she pulled them out of the trash
when mother and father weren’t looking she put them
in the china cabinet next to the cat skull years later
she broke the glass again it wasn’t an accident and father
had to pull all the pieces out of her hair once more
 
GRAVEL ALLEY
 
I raced fast down the winding alley my feet
were bare the tassels on my bike handles violent
the rocks would knock around my wheels and fly
into my skin I would not be surprised if shards
of that dirty gravel were still lodged in my body
the rocks kicked up a dust behind me
it followed like an angry spirit
the cracking stones were its cackle
I raced no one except maybe the strange yellow house
I was leaving I wanted to go home and the yellow house
felt like it was wrong isolated, miles away from everything
I knew even though it was just around the corner
past the rusted playground, up the hill, and
down the dirty gravel alley
 
 
HANDS
 
When the storm came through it pulled the leaves off the trees like a child who pulls
Every single petal from a flower until a naked bud remains the red and gold
Leaves blown over the hill I know there won’t be a fall this year now that the leaves
Are gone veiny spindly tree branches come out they stretch up to the sky like witch
Hands the fingers thin with bones sticking out my grandmother’s hands look like that
She said she loved me but I saw the hint of pity in her eyes when she looked at me
The bastard child of her heathen daughter but my mother told me I was a surprise
She was happy she always wanted children she taught me to make pancakes
By watching for when the bubbles start to form on the top
We made pancakes whenever it stormed and the electricity went out because our stove ran
On gas in the morning I lay in bed until I heard the click click of the flames catching hold
I would run downstairs she told me when the storm was over it would be winter
We could start to decorate for Christmas her favorite holiday the only day she said she felt God
I gripped the spatula to flip and her hand was over mine guiding her hand was plump and warm
 
ABANDONED DAFFODILS
 
I grew up in a town of worn wood and uneven
Brick houses with panels stained from cigarette burns
The house two doors down was abandoned and stood
Empty and possibly haunted but we lived
In our own haunted home so we didn’t notice
The backyard of the abandoned house had grown
Daffodils whether wild or planted by a ghost our mother
Never had much of a green thumb but she loved
The yellow petals so she hoisted my sister and I
Over the frayed fence and we picked the daffodils and dug
Up the bulbs with our bare hands dirt under our nails
We clambered back over the fence and mother
Put them in a vase on our china cabinet the flowers died
In a few weeks and the bulbs she planted in our small yard
Never grew.
 

#Unreal #Poetry #Richmond #OregonHill

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