Quinn Geaghan 

I was the flame

I stood

on the ridgeline—

mountains lacquered

in apricot fire.

Breath gathered in me

like droplets of oceanic stars

falling through dusk.

I spoke in amaranth hymns,

tongues of flame blooming

from a throat scorched by shadows.

My eyes,

they know the black mouth

that swallows whole

without chewing.

I lived there.

Touched the throat

of that pit,

and it whispered to me.

Then—

fingers of fire

pressed into my chest.

Spring ignited

as if my soul

inhaled for the first time.

My veins thawed.

Darkness spat me out—

golden peonies

clung to my skin.

Holy.

o Great God

O Great God,

the darkness clothed me—

a shroud of dripping ebony,

each drop searing madness

into the marrow of my soul.

Then your grace—

like morning breaking through ash—

fell in petals,

soft as breath on wings,

lifting me into light,

a chorus blooming in my chest.

O Great God,

your voice—

a starlit serenade—

wraps me in ribbons of mercy.

Ancient waters rise,

their currents cleansing old wounds,

carving songs in stone,

budding pearls of hope

within this mending heart.

New Hampshire poet Quinn Geaghan has been sharing her work with readers since 2020. Her poetry has found a home in publications such as Bakunawapress, Poetry Catalog, and Spillwords.