By Mary Morris
The war was over.
We sutured the wounded,
buried the dead, sat at the bar
with the enemy, near the blue
throat of the sea. A sushi chef
slivered salmon into orchids,
etched clouds from oysters,
as they rose snowing pearls.
From shrimp and seaweed
he shaped hummingbirds,
which hovered above
our heads.
With the world’s smallest blade
he carved from yellowfin,
miniature flanks of horses.
They cantered around our hands.
Source: Poetry (January 2016)
Poet Bio
More Poems about Activities
Sestina in Prose
It was like climbing a mountain to those of us who’d climbed one. To the others, it was like, I suppose, something else. In other words, we let everybody find her own figure of speech.
Not that it—speech—lay thick on the...
Town of Frijoles
In the town of frijoles,
men eat their meals without
washing their hands, wanting
to bless their mothers’ food
with soil from the fields.
In the town of frijoles,
boys beat on hollow pots,
the last wiping of their sides
with a piece of tortilla as
holy a moment...
More Poems about Nature
How to Triumph Like a Girl
I like the lady horses best,
how they make it all look easy,
like running 40 miles per hour
is as fun as taking a nap, or grass.
I like their lady horse swagger,
after winning. Ears up, girls, ears up!
But mainly, let’s be honest,...
Sestina in Prose
It was like climbing a mountain to those of us who’d climbed one. To the others, it was like, I suppose, something else. In other words, we let everybody find her own figure of speech.
Not that it—speech—lay thick on the...