ONLINE MAGAZINE MONTHLY      MARCH 2003      ISSN 1479-425X

MEGHAN L. QUINN
Six Poems

Pre-emptive Poems: Traitor?
I Spit On October
Blood On My Hands
Myths and the Serpent
Time Spent Here
Lasting Memory

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MEGHAN L. QUINN


Time Spent Here

 
She blazed past seven windows that night,
a white moth glittering and naked, herself
again free from the confinement of decay.
None would deny the sight or smiling
goodbye that danced across the country
at the speed of light, with kisses
for each of her earthbound children. 
 
She spent nine months puttering around
their earthly kitchen, growing accustomed
to her celestial body and stubbornly
ignoring heaven's light as she watched
Grandpa's blue eyes lose their sparkle
and his skin crackle with disease.
Until, with the memory of that last
Scotch before the trache still lingering,
he reached his glowing hand up to hers
and disappeared into the ether.

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