Another Photograph of Appalachia by Kristen Rouisse


Fix her babe
against a chest

split with sun;
teenaged and milkless

and sewn with
bone. A mother,

unaware. Small
fistful of paint

petals. Mouth,
unhinged. How

irises ember despite

Despite the hog,
hung and spilling

black thread.
From the mountains,

still-born blue rises.
And the treetops

are weighted with
low-hanging gospel;

the subtlest pinprick
of yesterday’s moon.


KRISTEN ROUISSE holds an MFA in poetry from the University of South Florida. Her work has been awarded Prairie Schooner’s Glenna Luschei Award and The Greensboro Review’s Robert Watson Literary Prize, and is featured.