by Samuel Louis Spencer
Commitment
is a scary thing, and I can’t
imagine how God felt
before speaking this endlessness
into being
by Diane Choplin
My serving of liver wasn’t that big, just the size of my palm. Maybe I could fake eating it. I looked around, assessing options.
by Ihor Pidhainy
So now we make the bread,
As long as the disaster is still ongoing
And you’ve ordered your 50 lbs of rye flour
(it will last for years – trust me)
And you haven’t fallen in love
Or had to take the kids to emergency.
by Alexandra Servey
the pan the sizzle the juicy-
ness something about the color golden
from the butter and the
curry and the heat something
about the meat over-seasoned
all the spices rubbed into thighs
how tender the chicken when
you render the fat
by Jeff Bender
I sat on the linoleum, thirty-three years after my last Peanut Butter Cup. I tasted and saw that the Lord is good.
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by Karina Guardiola-Lopez
I see my father, my grandparents, all the pets
I have buried in the backyard
the milk has gone sour
the crumbs are all gone
these shoes are too tight
by Angela Townsend
I sat on the linoleum, thirty-three years after my last Peanut Butter Cup. I tasted and saw that the Lord is good.
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by Diane Choplin
Safely perched on her hip, the birds were no longer menacing. They crowded around the box, comically losing their heads to its depth. Mom was smiling, taking it all in. I wasn’t sure how to feel.
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by Eme Celis
folded over and rolled into flaky layers/rested overnight/and shaped into the moon
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by Nathaniel Santiago
There is intimacy in one big plate and a large spoon dug into a steamy mountain of fried rice.
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by Gabriella Navas
She doesn’t know how to explain where she’s been. She doesn’t know how to say, I feel most like a woman when I do things that make men hate me.
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by Mira Dessy
Sure enough, they cooked properly, and they peeled easily. Each one of them had a smooth, unblemished outer surface.
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by Callie S. Blackstone
you told me to come home,
said you had cooked mad
before and would again,
that it wasn’t worth wasting
by Lexi Norjka
You dispose of your half-eaten tray and gather your bag, mumbling farewell to the guy behind the counter, who looks utterly relieved by your departure and wheels out his mop and bucket before you’re even out the door.
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by Karen Kwasny
Rocks in a stream bed, I think.
Pebbles, shells, eggs.
One by one until the loaves are gone,
the baking dish full.
by Michelle DeLiso
In their lilliputian kitchen, Papa ate whatever Nana served, including Swansons. He dined stoically, a strong-jawed man with a fork.
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by Natasha Zarin
But almost winning is sometimes better—daydreaming about what I would do differently next time, and creating foolproof plans in my mind to ensure glorious victories against my opponents for the next weekend.
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