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 Susan O'Dell Underwood

April 2014    

Even if this rainbow trout were still alive,
there would be no way to know
how many days or what kinds of skies
it saw or understood
before that jaw-twisting pierce and jerk
slung it upward into mid-air, or even then
whether it perceived the plainest blue light as above
or below, and itself as reaching or falling or flying
in the first moment of its dying,
but its silver skin seems alive even now,
streaked with indigo blue-grey, pink and green
under the plunging last cleanse of ice water,
staring its dead-eye dare around the stainless bowl
as if it might yet find a rock to winnow around,
searching for the familiar brown serenity of stones
and the pleasure of colorless shadow,
its body the shiniest blaze
that could ever have mattered
in the sleek, narrow steadfast world it lived within;
even now it means more than the namesake
praising its resemblance,
more than this prism of a word.


  Susan O’Dell Underwood directs the Creative Writing Program at Carson-Newman University in Jefferson City, Tennessee, where she also teaches courses in poetry and Appalachian literature. She was raised in Bristol, Tennessee, and lived out-of-state only for graduate study -- an MFA in Creative Writing from UNC Greensboro, and a PhD in English from FSU in Tallahassee. She has written a novel, Genesis Road, which won the Tennessee Arts Commission Grant for prose in 2004, and has published a chapbook of poetry, From, from Finishing Line Press. She’s married to artist David Underwood..


Photo used under Creative Commons.