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

Yardbird Suite

by John Dufresne

July 2012

When I first taste the stone-ground grits and circuit hash,
I smile & nod like I’ve been told some delicious secret,
& when I bite into the fried chicken
so crisp & dry (without),
so tender & moist (within),
so piquant and savory,
I understand once again that we eat the foods we love
to remind ourselves who we are, & this meal
connects me to Marvin Woods, the low-country poet
back there in his kitchen, & to the teamster who hauled
the produce and fowl to the restaurant, & to the butcher
who killed the chicken, to the farmer in McClellenville
who raised the duPuy lentils and currant tomatoes
in her truck garden & who maybe just learned that her
sister-in-law got some unwelcomed news from the clinic,
& to generations of Southern families who made lye
in ash hoppers and ground their parched corn kernels in
samp mills, & connects me, the meal does, to this free-range
bird herself & to her brief, purposeful, but confusing life.
So thank you for the meal, the splendid yardbird,
the brilliant circuit hash, the miraculous grits–it all tastes so good
to me, tastes so good, so good.

  John Dufresne [rest of author bio].

Photo of "Chicken Head" by SMcGarnigle under Creative Commons.