Hannah Rousselot (she/her) is a queer French-American poet, writer, and educator. Her poetry has appeared in many publications, including Parentheses Magazine, The McNeese Review, The Blue Nib and The Broadkill Review. She has published two long works, Fragments of You (Kelsay Press) and Ocean Currents (Finishing Line Press). She also reviews other poets’ works on hannahrousselot.com and is the host of Poetry Aloud (@poetryaloudpod). You can follow her work on facebook.com/hmrpoetry or hannahrousselot.com
The water flow brings not
salvation but jagged seaglass
that burrows within the callused skin
of my big toe and stubbornly refuses
to break out until I get out my cheap knife
and cut around the skin but by then
my fingers are too bloody to get a good grip.
Still, the waves crash in the cavity
of my swollen head and at least my viscous fingers
feel so good sliding on cheeks.
I am pushed and pulled relentlessly by the moon
up and down, a dead body floating and sinking.
I want pity from the sand beneath me
but it burns my back and provides no solidity.
I yell— I am trying to become one of you—
yet the words are cement and I choke
on the salty spray and besides no one is here but
my want and my want and
no ocean is big enough for that.