Leaving, Meaghan Quinn



What were we thinking, that we would always fit
into one another’s lives? And what did you crave
on that boardwalk: sugar, bread, domed light?
Remember mouthing stories in the dark?
When you were jaundiced lip, what moved
you to paint the sky with the birds of your hands?
And whose bed did we sleep in the night
you thrashed in cucumber sheets,
your legs restless, heart dialed down low?
Did you cry out when we cut our hands
on our teeth, the hurt pooling off our faces
and drifting into the gun-gray lakes?
Would you do things differently, too?
Tell me, are you happier in your new Eden

Meaghan Quinn

Scroll to Top