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

Le Fouque

by Elisa Albo

June 2014    

On our final morning in Paris,
      after I’d tasted his lips, his saltiness,
           my new husband ordered eggs,

then reached across the café table
     to squeeze my hand, kiss me
           with pale blue eyes, steal a forkful

of creamy paté from its constellation
      of cracked peppercorn stars and sea salt.
           The day before, lost in the monument

city of Pere Lachaise, I kissed the stone
      angel blooming with a thousand lipstick
           kisses on Oscar Wilde’s tomb,

paid homage to Colette, Chopin,
     the comic philosopher who was Moliere.
           A somber crowd stood silent before

Jim Morrison’s dingy marker.
     Why the dirt, the dearth of spring
           flowers? That morning an ancient

waiter had borne a Viennese hot
      chocolate to our table, poured
           steaming cocoa from a petite silver

pitcher—scent of vanilla infused
     in the chocolate bloom we inhaled—
           then carefully set a whipped spoonful

of cream atop the froth lid of my cup,
     sprinkled it with fine powdered sugar
           and cocoa dust. Back in our hotel room,

my husband traced the scar like a smile
     on my belly, dusted the one on my neck
           with rapid kisses, promised we’d return.


  Elisa Albo, the author of Passage to America, recently completed a collection of food poems, To Sweeten the Flesh. Her poems have appeared in Alimentum, Bomb, Gulf Stream, InterLitQ, MiPoesias, Tigertail: A South Florida Annual, and Irrepressible Appetites, among others. She teaches English at Broward College and lives with her husband and daughters in Ft. Lauderdale, FL.


Photo used under Creative Commons.