By Omotara James
When Sarah Vaughan pipes from the great American songbook,
I forget time is dragging my body from one…
I forget time is dragging my body from one…
Explore Poems: Eating & Drinking
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- By Daniel HalpernThe redolence of rose and new road.
The attar of grass, recently cut.
The fish-whiff of anchovy.
The spinning… - By Brittany PerhamThe doctor tells her what she can’t eat
no grains no nuts no beans no sugar a tomato is OK
but no skins… - By Nicole GonzalezThe Spiritual Symbiotic Triad
White corn masa harina
puff up on the comal,
Calabacitas steaming
… - By Jalen Skye SmallcanyonUnder noon’s gaze, eyes narrow search for the prize wether, ensnared by rope and legs bound by azure…
- By Janiru LiyanageA pound of
Bruised mangoes
Cleaved into halves, chilied and salted like the heads of
Dead fish, which… - By Caroline Laganas1 berry-stained month of summer
1 grandmother
2 cups flour
½ cup sugar
1 tablespoon baking powder
½… - By Ariana LeeMama is half a country
away and I am newly adult,
so I wash grapes, measuring salt
by eyefuls to baptize… - By Kinsale DrakeI feel god in this Taco Bell tonight:
Cheese, beans, rice, the witching hour
of missing someone. My mother
liked to cook with the worst kind of flour.
My father snuck sips of sweating drinks
clutched in my sister’s little fingers. This
is the spot to... - By Frank X. Walker...walk into a bar in America.
Butterworth says, I’m being repackaged.
Ben says, I’m being rebranded.
Jemima says, I remember
when they branded my mama on her back.
The bartender says, I could stand in the middle
of Main Street and kill somebody
and I wouldn’t... - By Richard BlancoQue será, el café of this holy, incorporated place,
the wild steam of scorched espresso cakes rising
like mirages from the aromatic waste, waving
over the coffee-glossed lips of these faces
assembled for a standing breakfast of nostalgia,
of tastes that swirl with the delicacy... - By Samyak ShertokTwice a year Apa cooked his “monk’s half-moon” dish: pumpkin blossom
lamb curry—first crackle the fenugreek seeds in ghee, stir the thinly sliced
baby pumpkins translucent, add a concocted paste of wild herbs
soaked in buttermilk overnight, drop the smoked fatted lamb pieces,
pour... - By Nikki GiovanniI always like summer
best
you can eat fresh corn
from daddy's garden
and okra... - By Lucia CherciuEven the grocery list is a love poem, a prayer—
God, let me keep what I love.
Peaches, cheap. Books, brilliant—
mine so I can underline.
How aromatic the apricots,
how sharp the novels.
Together,
we have planted an orchard.
I don’t understand the word defensive:
are you supposed... - By Kimberly JaeIf a jar of jelly is $2.98
& a loaf of Hawaiian bread is $4
Then how much bail money will I need when I kill everyone in my house
for eating all the bread
and jelly in 5 minutes?
Black Momma Math
If Black Momma... - By Nikki GiovanniI watched Mommy
Cook
Though I cooked
With Grandmother
With Grandmother I learned
To pluck chickens
Peel carrots
Turn chittlins inside out
Scrub pig feet
With Mommy I watched
leftovers for stew
Or vegetable soup
Great northern beans
Mixed collards turnips and mustard greens
Garlic cloves Bay Leaves
Very beautifully green
Stiff so fresh
With just a... - By William Langland‘þis were a wikkede wey but whoso hadde a gyde
þat [myȝte] folwen us ech foot’: þus þis folk hem mened.
Quod Perkyn þe Plowman, ‘By Seint Peter of Rome!
I haue an half acre to erie by þe heiȝe weye;
Hadde I eryed... - By Bert MeyersRabbi of condiments,
whose breath is a verb,
wearing a thin beard
and a white robe;
you who are pale and small
and shaped like a fist,
a synagogue,
bless our bitterness,
transcend the kitchen
to sweeten death—
our wax in the flame
and our seed in the bread.
Now, my parents... - By Bert Meyers1
A suburb of coffee cups;
napkins, those crumpled hills;
silverware, freeways
spotted with grease, with flesh...
and the ash-tray,
a ghetto full of charred men
with grizzled heads
who wasted their flame;
where every breath
scatters its bones
and small gray mounds
accumulate, then crumble,
like nations
or the knees of elephants.
2
Like a... - By Suma SubramaniamYou cannot pronounce my name.
“Soor-ya.” Not “soar.”
Surya—the sun god.
Mom always tells me that a smile heals everything.
So I try.
I sit beside you in the cafeteria
and smile.
You look down at your food
and eat your cheeseburger,
I eat the lemon rice in my...