Poems

Olive is dead Did you hear Olive Barstow On Monroe Street It's awful Her blood was not red but black Flying through the air like a bird Lying in a heap at the curb Never to move again

Martha woke up from a dream Mindlessly Martha Screaming Tear-streaked cheeks She was affraid It seemed to Martha that everything was blue The world is not what you think She became aware of the pump of her heart Martha was alive Olive is dead

By: Dana Rose