by Keira Deer
his hands shake as he shows me his photographs. oil in water, he says.
______several quarts per day. micro-volleys, climbing from underwater fuel tanks,
and laying like dancing ribbon, like ghosts arriving to their new lives.
______secrets spring from these ocean bodies, reported
in knots of escaped air and oil, detonating at the surface in the voices of
______one thousand sunken men. listen,
and let fall that shivering pearl
______hanging in the corner of your eye.
Keira Deer is a writer based in Southern California. She holds a BFA in Creative Writing from Chapman University and has been published in Calliope Art & Literary Magazine, Ouroboros Magazine, and Polaris Literary Magazine.
Hawaii Pacific Review 