Yellowtail

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.