“Felony” by Meaghan Quinn

Her lips are smushed on my shoulder asleep
Her lips are cold caves glinting with shadow
Her lips are holding the mumbles of dreams
Her lips are monarchs trembling with blow
Her lips are backpacks of knives and Red Bull
Her lips are apples clenched in jaws of dogs
Her lips now click their trilled wings still
Her lips are Hell’s barter with bodegas
Her lips are saltines crumbled on sheets
Her lips are wet – they part like paper boats
Her lips are wounded stifling a scream
Her lips are begging for the burn of rope
Her lips are hashish smoking in the dark
Her lips are storms pelting the old ark


Meaghan Quinn holds an MFA from the Writing Seminars at Bennington College and has studied at The Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown, MA. She is an Assistant Poetry Editor for The Tishman Review and was a recipient of the Nancy Penn Holsenbeck Prize. Her poems are forthcoming or have been published in Prairie Schooner, Off the Coast, Heartwood, r.kv.r.y., 2River, Adrienne, Free State Review, and others.