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

Squash Blossoms

by Allison Wilkins

May 2014    


I cannot write about such delicacy.
Nor how early in the morning,

when the blossoms have just opened,
Rita, picks them carefully. Nor

how she takes care not to tear the blossoms
as she removes the leaves, pistil and stamen.

The fragile orange flower, a taste of the sun.
Nor the precise spooning of rice

into the open cavern. Such gifts arrive
on the balcony. Left piled in a small pyramid

on a white plate. A shadow of olive oil.
This gift is too much for my gratitude,

is beyond what I am capable of confessing
to myself. I cannot write about such tenderness.

I hardly understand how it exists.

 



  Allison Wilkins’s first book of poems, Girl Who, is forthcoming with CW Books (Fall 2014). Her published critical work explores the work of Sylvia Plath. She has been a fellow at VCCA. She teaches English and is Poetry Editor of the James Dickey Review at Lynchburg College.