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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

Mary Morris lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico. She received the Rita Dove Award and the New Mexico Discovery Award.

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