even the word Oneida / can’t be written in Oneida[1]

Winner of the 2022 “49th Parallel Award” for Poetry

What ails the nation’s lies
unseats the sustenant. At least, 

                                                                                                                    it tilts halos, allies loss, 
                                                                                     attunes statues to skeletal white noon, 

                                                      an oilskin title, a tesselate ease

I salute. I, the tithe, I
the hesitant (no) saint (no) unholy.
                                                                                                                        I, in the nuns’ salon.

                                                                  Thus, they anoint 
                                                              the (un)hostile entity—

                                                      the we who talk less; sweat less; 
listen heat-less, sans teeth. 
                                                                                                                          All alleles, all eons,

                                                                                                             all heathen shell unsewn
                                                                      shakes whole 

                                                                     a lethal sienna, 
                                                               a toll to hasten want.
                                                              An unlikely whetstone,

this State without yoke
outhunts its own lie,

                                                                                                                   lawless skyline in awe 
                                                                                                                at the likeness, the kiln,

                                                             the hush, how it shines.

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[1] A lipogram using only the 13 letters which correspond between English and latinized Oneida; and moons on turtle’s back

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Kenzie Allen is a Haudenosaunee poet and multimodal artist. She is a descendant of the Oneida Nation of Wisconsin. Kenzie is a recipient of a 92NY Discovery Prize, the James Welch Prize for Indigenous Poets, the 49th Parallel Award for Poetry, and the Littoral Press Prize, as well as fellowships from Vermont Studio Center, Aspen Summer Words, and Indigenous Nations Poets (In-Na-Po). A finalist for the National Poetry Series, her work can be found in Poetry magazine, Boston Review, Narrative magazine, Poets.org, The Paris Review‘s The Daily, Poetry Northwest, Best New Poets, and other venues. Born in West Texas, she is currently an Assistant Professor in Indigenous Literatures and Creative Writing at York University in Toronto.