Recipe Poems

A Conjuring by A Conjuring

Grandmother's Bread by Wilda Morris

Raspberry Mousse; or, Wherein I Unwittingly Assist My Ex-husband, Who, On Behalf of our Son, Prepares My Mother's Day Dessert by Joanie DiMartino

Deconstructing Chicken by Adina Cassal

Collage by Lisa Mase

Foraging by Carolyn Wells

The Baker by Janine Certo

A Poem That Wants to Call Itself a Recipe by Jax Peters Lowell

Corn Chowder by Penny Baert Zywusko

Kugel by Sharon Lask Munson

Muffin of the Morning by James B. Nicola

simplicity by Lois Baer Barr

Recipe for Disaster by Jonathan Pacic

Affogato by Lettie

Fall Harvest by Holly Mitchell

The Apple by Kerry Ruef

Brunswick Stew by Lyle Estill

Two Poems by Brenda Butka

Bread by Eva Szabo

Squash Blossoms by Allison Wilkins

Our Table by Joan Seliger Sidney

Recipe for Spaghetti all'Amatriciana by Georganne Harmon

The Agony of the Leaves by Gail Bellamy

Greens by Paulette Licitra

Strudel by Eva Szabo

The Almost Adulterer's Guide to Menu Planning by Michele Battiste

The Pie Series by David Colagiovanni, Melissa Haviland, and Becca J.R. Lachman

Midsummer's Night's Spaghetti with Saffron by Johannes Berchtold

A Cannibal's Suicide by Dean Kostos

From the Garden by Nancy Vienneau

orang slizez jell o shotz by Amy Stetzl

Phở bò Hà Nội by Kelly Morse

Cooking Class, Marrakesh by Georganne Harmon

Spread Triolet by Dana Stamps

The Things Kids Eat by Paulette Licitra

Maybe This Year by Esther Cohen

Braociole by Joseph Bathanti

Basque Cooking by Richard Hedderman

Two Poems by Adrienne Christian

Jailhouse Crack by Harlan Richards

Cinnamon Sticks by Wally Swist

Best of Both by Nancy Vienneau

Cooking Class, Marrakech

by Georganne Harmon

April 2013


Into my tagine
I drop red onions,
their crisp flesh
opened and chopped
with a sharp knife,
add a chicken quarter
and rub into its skin
ginger, pepper, cinnamon,
that first I pass
under my nose,
close to my lips,
and slice an apple over,
sprinkle raisins.

In the earthen oven
wood has burned to black heat
like passion simmering
to patience.

I take the pottery
laden with this fruit
and settle it
on its smoking nest
then bear a pitcher of water,
pour it under its coned hat.

It looks like a priest’s mitre
clouded in incense,
and so we wait
for the mystery
of transformation
and stand in communion,
our hands clasped
on empty plates
before this altar.




  Georganne Harmon grew up in Nashville, Tennessee, where she now makes her home. Her poems have appeared in various journals, and she has been the recipient of six Tennessee Writers Alliance awards and an award from the Tennessee Mountain Writers. Her collection of poetry, We Will Have Ghosts, is available through Weedy Editions and www.georganneharmonpoetry.com.


 

Photo under Creative Commons.