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

"Café" and "Truth"

by Grace Bauer

April 2013    


The French own the word
and invented the concept
of beverage as event,
seeing (or being seen)
a way of life, the art
of enjoyment.

And so I pay double
for the privilege
of sitting here, just to sit
and later say I have.

It’s worth the price
to listen to the lilt
of conversation that to me,
enchanted foreigner, sounds
like song, incomprehensible
as it may be beyond
the opening bonsoirs.

And the coffee itself is,
as the old American ad
always claimed,
good to the last drop.
The tiny chocolate
in my saucer, a final sweet



I’m just trying to be honest with you,
says the woman at the table next to me
to the man across the table from her.
And though I have no way of knowing exactly
what they are talking about, I know
she is telling a lie, because she says it as if
telling the truth were simple, and God knows,
and I know, it is not. And the man, I think
he knows this, too, because he cups his hands
around his double latte and stares, as if he were
studying the froth of whipped cream, which he
eventually dips a timid finger into. And then
he raises that finger to his lips, as if he meant
to gesture silence, as if that was his silent and honest
reply to this obvious overheard lie.


  Grace Bauer's books include Retreats & Recognitions, Beholding Eye, and The Women At The Well, as well as three chapbooks of poems. She is also coeditor of the anthology Umpteen Ways of Looking at a Possum: Critical & Creative Responses to Everette Maddox. Her work has also appeared in numerous anthologies and journals. She teaches in the Creative Writing Program at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.


Photo used under Creative Commons.