by Mary Morris

We weren’t sure.
We asked the oracle—miracle of the mercurial.

Don’t buckle, reader.

Lucille utilized it religiously—
summoning spirits, invoking ghosts

as she conjured the departed
in their alchemy with questions. Lit beeswax candles

circling her abundant garden

of greens and sweet potatoes, prepared
to reach beyond arias of the flesh.

You will remember, reader, she was wild with divinity—
prophetic, the seer we all seek to learn from.

To be taught by the mistress
of soothsayers

is to hang your senses out
in the tallest trees, closer to clouds, for devotions

with her soul, her six children, her six toes
on each foot, that extreme depth

of gentleness, as she blesses the boats
before departing the harbor

of the dead.

_________________________________________________________

Mary Morris is the author of four books of poetry, most recently, Lanterns in the Night Market (2025). Her poems are published in North American Review, Poetry Magazine, Boulevard, and Prairie Schooner. She has received a number of awards, including the Rita Dove Award, Wheelbarrow Book Prize (selected by Leila Chatti), and the New Mexico Book Award. Mary has been invited to read her work at the Library of Congress, which aired on NPR.

by Mary Morris

Stray cats in the attic,
the high bridge
we jumped from
into the river of frogs
and water moccasin.

We no longer ask
if she imagines
our childhood home—

no longer probe
about a life spent together.

Our mother nursed us
seventeen months apart.
We shared a room,
camped in Mexico,
launched a boat to Sardinia.
Witnessed the births
of each of our children.

I am not sure when
we first noticed her memory
migrating away.

Now I could say
maybe that wasn’t betrayal
but plaques and tangles.

When did she neglect
to turn off the stove?
Bake a cake without flour
and eggs? Lose the way home,
a block from her lane?

Sister, you no longer retain
a history of us, remember less

and less, but the more you forget
the further back I reminisce.

Sleeping together.

Talking too late.

Dancing into oblivion.

Swimming in the lake.

Sometimes you need a sister like a drink of water.
Sometimes you feel you are dying of thirst.

______________________________________________________________________

Mary Morris is the author of three books of poetry: Late Self-Portraits (selected by Leila Chatti for the Wheelbarrow Book Prize), Dear October (Arizona-New Mexico Book Award), and Enter Water, Swimmer (runner-up for the X.J. Kennedy Prize). Morris received the Rita Dove Award and has been invited to read her poems at the Library of Congress which aired on NPR. Her poems are published in Poetry, Poetry Daily, Prairie Schooner, and North American Review. See water400.org.

by Mary Morris

is an ocean. Her breathing,
a storm at sea. My mother

is having a tooth pulled today.
This sweet tooth she has had

since she skipped from her tenement
to buy strawberry ice cream

for her parents, running
home before it melted.

That same molar bit into rations
during poverty in war

and through the feathery
wedding cake her mother baked.

One eyetooth drew blood
from the flesh of a midwife’s arm.

El otro diente, another tooth
cracked on an apple last week.

One by one, my mother is losing
all of her teeth. Now I understand

what this means:
someday she won’t be hungry.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

Published in Poetry, Poetry Daily, Boulevard, Prairie Schooner, Arts & Letters, Massachusetts Review, and numerous other literary journals, Mary Morris received the Rita Dove Award and has been invited to read at the Library of Congress. She recently won the 2019 Mountain West Prize from Western Humanities Review and has been nominated for Best Microfiction 2020. Her book, Enter Water, Swimmer, was the runner-up for the X. J. Kennedy Prize and published by Texas A&M University Consortium through Texas Review Press. A second book by the same press will be published in 2020. Morris writes book reviews, teaches poetry, and lives in Santa Fe New Mexico. See more at www.water400.org.