Quinn Rennerfeldt: A Poem • Cleaver Magazine

Quinn Rennerfeldt
A POEM WHEREIN I TRY, AND FAIL, TO IDENTIFY MY TUESDAY GENDER

Have you ever been forced
………….to swallow a pill of light
………….………….unguided hands rubbing

the tract of your throat
………….to slip it past the chokepoint
………….………….like a shhh and something blue

and lamplike then resides
………….inside you, threading the acids
………….………….of your stomach like an

anxious goldfish irradiating
………….the viscous liquids
………….………….in small neon pings

shining scales amongst darkness
………….morse code messages in bubbles
………….………….trying to regurgitate themselves

from your mouth
………….agitate against the fishtank
………….………….of molars and stress-clenched jaw

and yet you are still a stranger
………….always have been but now
………….………….you have an aquatic carcinogen

to fault, furtive bioluminescent flame
………….lighting the way for doubt
………….………….and the feelings cramped

in the fake sand, slowly stirring
………….the blonde grains from dormancy
………….………….like a creature where it oughtn’t be

Quinn Rennerfeldt is a queer poet earning her MFA at San Francisco State University, where she lives with her family and animal menagerie. Their heart is equally wed to the Pacific Ocean and the Rocky Mountains. Her work can be found in Slipstream, SAND, Mom Egg Review, elsewhere, and the anthology Rewilding: Poems for the Environment. Her chapbook Sea Glass Catastrophe was released in 2020 by Francis House Press. She is the Editor-in-Chief of Fourteen Hills, a graduate-run literary journal and press associated with San Francisco State University.