Mycelium by Wilda Morris

At Grandmother's Table circa 1948 by Elizabeth Langemak

Taste by Patridge Boswell

Lullaby by Edward Mayes

Shakespeare by James B. Nicola

Summer Night by Diane Giardi

100 Words on My Father with a Big Fish by Jan Presley

Why go to heaven yet by Margo Davis

Roll Over Beethoven by Jonathan Pacic

limnophila aromatica by Susan Soriano

Bantams by Heather Bourbeau

Salt by Carolyn Wells

It Won't Taste the Same by Michelle Morouse

The Fallacy of Comparisons by Paul Lieber

Ode to End of Summer by Wally Swist

408 Dates with Maureen by Gail Bellamy

Taste Testing by Sarah Fawn Montgomery

A Meditation on Working as a Produce Clerk by Ross Stager

Le Fouquet by Elisa Albo

Two Poems by Sarah Paley

Transubstantiation by Susan O'Dell Underwood

Two Poems by Sharon Abra Hanen

Strawberries by Vincent Peloso

Chin Chin by Jessica M. Brophy

Nonpareil by Lois Rosen

Creating Foodie Monsters by Elisa Albo

Foods I Love by Meredith Drake

Three Poems by Terence Winch

Soufflé by Piscilla Atkins

Three Poems by Gail Peck

Under the Kitchen Floor by Bruce Cohen

Spring Peas Come to the Stores by Hannah Fischer

Two Poems by Grace Bauer

Kettle by Susan Kelly-DeWitt

Going to Get Swedish by Carol Berg

Potluck on Sulphur Creek by Brenda Butka

My Mother's Handwriting by Julia Wendell

Radish by Lauren Henley

The Way of the Buddha by Nadia Ibrashi

Famine Bread by Karen Holmberg

Leer Comida by Andrés Catalán

Cooking Show by Gary Mesick

Museum of Butter by Carol Jenkins

Two Poems by Crystal Simone Smith

Yardbird Suite by John Dufresne

It won’t Taste the Same

by Michelle Morouse

December 2014    

It won’t taste the same next time.
The soil will be different,
the season wetter,
the eggs fresher,
the cinnamon older.
Events will put the farmer
a day behind.
Cumulus and cirrus will
find new rhythms.

You will pause,
while your best friend explains
why she must
leave her husband.
The baby will no longer babble,
but will send a jumble
of sentences flying,
and with it her serving.
The teenagers will choose
to eat half of theirs.

Your uncle’s surprise bride will
accept seconds,
plate balanced
on gravid belly.
Grandma will need to be fed
the last two bites,
smiling as your new
boyfriend hoists her fork.

You will eat the last
cold sliver for breakfast,
and know
that it will never
taste that way again.


  Michelle Morouse is a pediatrician and avid cook from the Detroit area. Her work has appeared in Penisula Poets, The Southeast Review, and Oxford magazine, among others. She serves on the Board of Detroit Working Writers.


Photo used under Creative Commons.