Deep Water

I know a woman who dons a wetsuit. 
     She dives in waters off Greenland 
to measure the rising sea, swims  
     with the majestic narwhal and fin whale. 

 I’ve read about strange mutations  
     of fish discovered in the Potomac.  
The trigger: hormones, spilled  
    down house drains.  

 Whale shark and giant manta ray  
     bank and curve in an Aquarium,
and I’m not sure anymore 
     if this is meant to be entertainment  

 or protection of imperiled species.  
    I think acrobatic, the spectacular in jeopardy. 

MARY MORRIS

Mary Morris is the author of three books of poetry: Late Self-Portraits (Wheelbarrow Books Prize), Dear October (Arizona–New Mexico Book Award), and Enter Water, Swimmer (runner-up, the X.J. Kennedy Prize). Her poems appear in Poetry, Prairie Schooner, The Massachusetts Review, American Life in Poetry, Poetry Daily, and Verse Daily.