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

The Pie Series

by David Colagiovanni, Melissa Haviland, and Becca J.R. Lachman



It’s taken sixty years of marriage, but your meringue
technique is perfect; you could frenzy fresh egg whites
into stiff peaks in your sleep. Two lemons, juiced and
zested; cornstarch, salt, and margarine. Now, no recipe
is needed for your husband’s favorite kind. You married
in the summer, when a storm drenched opened peonies
around the tiny chapel. You still think of soft white petals
when meringue is in the making, often say a prayer in
silence as the pie slides onto rack: if you take it out—
exactly—when its peaks are glazed with amber, you
assume the role of Rescuer, suppose the plea’s received
intact. In the froth of heaven’s whisking, something
takes up where you left off… You let the pie cool.



Praise for what the farmhouse holds! Its crocks and icebox, its sewing
room! The attic gluttonous with memory of Grandma’s thirty years of
third grade teaching: stuffed armadillo and spinning wheel, dead rattle
snake in a pickle jar! Dear house, remain our source of story. Hymn for
the white antique piano built right into the wall. Hymn for the ancient
deepfreeze, the mud-straw insulation, the first front door now painted
shut. Praises be for the steps where Grandpa led a pony to the best and
cleanest bedroom, to prove a schüslick could! Praise for Swiss lowbrow,
for psalms droned in German pressed into floorboards! Our new feet
hurry to another room. We gather for birthdays or Sunday feasts, intact.
Praise for the flaming pudding, its butter sauce rich each Old Christmas
Eve. An ode to the arrowheads untombed by the tiller, to buttons and
china in the old family dump! A psalm to the scraps of the last generation
that our children polish for wild décor! In mud pies and castles, a bit
of green gleams. Someone calls from the porch: a high voice answers.

October 2013    


David Colagiovanni (, Melissa Haviland (, and Becca J.R. Lachman ( are neighbors in Athens, Ohio and often find themselves in each other's kitchens. This collaborative project features videos from the archive of Haviland & Colagiovanni and poetry inspired by Becca's Mennonite grandma, who buys pie boxes in bulk. More poems in this pie series can be found in Image and The Cresset.


Photo used under Creative Commons.