dear oliver,
“who are you here
to see?” a buff man
with a dirty uniform
lay against the window.
his eyes squinted against
the blaring sun and its
penetrating rays of
death.
oliver’s voice cracked
as he mumbled the
words that brought
him so much pain.
“my dead-beat father.”
quinn
YOU ARE READING
zero
PoetryQuinn scribbles tainted emotions across thin layers of white paper. But to who? To someone who blinks once, sees her, and blinks again-just to make her disappear. To someone who sees her as a symbol of the ocean. To someone who thinks the ocean is...
