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Suzanne Iuppa


Shopping for Eels



Pretending to be enchanted

we drift off from the seasonal market


no family to cook for


to the gravitas of the fish stalls

their white vans reversed up, backs thrown open

fresh as the vendors scooping brine into geometric trays, kneeling


no ice — Baltic sea


They lift the eels

silver entwined strands; loving each other

into boxes, for our eyes only


piccolo-gills opening, shutting

one chooses your hand/arm


and we are told it’s carp for Christ’s birthday

flat-faced and palmed onto a serving platter                   at midnight

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