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By Sofija Zovko

when you come to my table,

I will serve you urchin, raw


crown cut: an orange blossom


you may have it with butter

spread thick on white bread


and once you take that first bite,

let me ask you


when you eat of my urchin,


can you feel the gulls cry against shuttered windows?

can you smell the brine of your skin?


can you taste why blue became modro,

why the sea churned until it coloured itself so?

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