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


by Lauren Henley

November 2012    

You must forgive us—
the name we gave you
means quickly appearing.
We think only
of immediacy…
stomach, eye, open palm.
But you give yourself over
as though it were your
pleasure. How can we bite
into your pinkish-purple skin
and think of
ancient history? Along
with mustards and turnips,
Caesar and Augustus fed on your
but now we plant you
in children’s gardens. They sing
your other names:
Cherry Belle, Snow Belle,
April Cross…names like
exotic dancers…Bunny Tail,
White Icicle, Scarlet Globe…
names like flavors
or colors of lipstick, as if
you could be anything
we might imagine. We want
every part of you:
your rabbit-ear leaves,
your curling tendrils, your seeds
housed in siliques. Radish,
we have given you a sandy loam.
We have stirred
and overturned, plucked the clods
and stones. Still,
you grow away from us, wild.


  Lauren Henley currently lives and writes in California's low-desert. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in River Styx, A River and Sound Review, and The Medulla Review. She loves to make raw chocolate and vegetable dishes for her family and friends.


Photo used under Creative Commons.