July 9, 2019

July 9, 2019


The Make of a Girl

Quinn Elise Rennerfeldt

“I'm a fountain of blood. In the shape of a girl.”

Overripe plum blood,
muck in your mouth
bite off your tongue blood.
Brimming with salt
blood, olive and
pinestands blood, peace
between nations
and war spilling over
blood. Ours is cool
breeze on the bedsheets,
get inside me blood.
Mercury metal
and velvet petal

Our pores are full
of wolf-hunger
and shark-frenzy.
When willing,
we spill open
to fill throats
with cherry tongue,
jewel-tone blood.

Blood, thick and lined,
smudged and simmering
blood. Basement flood,
tornado shelter or
bomb-bunker blood,
bombastic and wilting,
rumble blood. We are full

of it, ruddy-chested,
brand on our haunches
blood, iron-rich
umami blood, drowning
in a lung bag of
blood, and only we
can clot, can stem
and stymie this

baby’s split lip, sister’s
raw, throbbing eye,
dam up the damsels
and deluge.
Only we can open
the gate to free
those horses
from the fire,

lay hands to dead
ground and come back
with palmfuls
of wormy topsoil,
dowse the fever
with bathwater.

We, bloodied
by the moon’s eye,
water-wed like the tides,
studded with blood
like milk like
air like mouth
like mind, only we

can shut
a spitting lip,
lay raw steak
to skin, undo
the husband
stitch, staunch
these paroxysms
of man.


Quinn Rennerfeldt studied creative writing at the University of Colorado at Boulder and currently lives in San Francisco with her daughters, husband, and menagerie. Her heart is equally wed to the Pacific Ocean and the Rocky Mountains. Her work can be found in Slipstream, Bird’s Thumb, Mothers Always Write, Punch Drunk Press, and elsewhere, among others. She is the co-founder of Q/A Poetry, a journal promoting womxn poets.