Mary Morris
Dancing In Lisbon
Fado. We enter a longing for bliss.
He holds my Manueline waist.
Two guitarists finger-pick their way
along the quick road of a song.
We dust the floor with our hems,
ignite the ground with tiny blue fires
so that the alcoholics in the bar sober
up for life, make of themselves
their very own pietas of suffering, as we had
on the torched road to compassion.
Mary Morris received the Rita Dove Award and the New Mexico Discovery Award. Her writing appears in Prairie Schooner, The Columbia Review, and Quarterly West. Morris has been invited to read her poems at the Library of Congress and NPR. Water400@aol.com
Return to March 2015 Edition
Fado. We enter a longing for bliss.
He holds my Manueline waist.
Two guitarists finger-pick their way
along the quick road of a song.
We dust the floor with our hems,
ignite the ground with tiny blue fires
so that the alcoholics in the bar sober
up for life, make of themselves
their very own pietas of suffering, as we had
on the torched road to compassion.
Mary Morris received the Rita Dove Award and the New Mexico Discovery Award. Her writing appears in Prairie Schooner, The Columbia Review, and Quarterly West. Morris has been invited to read her poems at the Library of Congress and NPR. Water400@aol.com
Return to March 2015 Edition