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 Vincent Peloso

February 2014    

When you started aborting, we were still watering
the greenhouse plants just set out –
strawberries, Swiss chard, raspberries, lettuce –
your cramps suddenly fierce
as the hard work you did started doing the trick
dreaded since the doctor’s sad news.

Soon back in bed, gripping the sheets,
a towel clasped between your thighs,
I tried to help without being disruptive –
changing towels, holding your hand, bringing
more towels, clean sheets, water.
You made it. But it was unmade.

After doing the laundry and helping you shower,
I returned to watering strawberries.
I did this is remembrance of
your husband then on the road,
my wife at work in town,
and every undone child.


  This is Vincent Peloso teaches at College of the Redwoods and lives with his wife and their dog in Fortuna, CA. A manuscript of his work was the first runner-up 2011 Bordighera Poetry Prize Competition.


Photo used under Creative Commons.