Daughter I Bleed

This bruiseberry
pygmy planet thrust from orbit, a circularsweet
red floret
-et
unravelling
artificial light. And maybe
day
given—she’ll sink her teeth into
home

clot abandons my uterus as a
nonpareil. Maybe one day she’ll, too, watch a
snake toil
water: fouetté jeté’s
bedaubed beneath
one
—gravity
these furrowed walls of space and call them

Kristen Rouisse

Kristen Rouisse is a Florida-based writer who holds an MFA in Poetry from the University of South Florida. Her work has appeared in Thin Air Magazine, Hobart, Milk Journal, Cheap Pop, and elsewhere. She’s a former poetry and nonfiction editor for Saw Palm: Florida Literature and Art and tweets at @kristenrouisse.