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It has mushrooms. Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been published in Poetry Quarterly, North of Oxford, Twin Decades, Remembered Arts, Reader’s Digest, US1, and others. She was married to Attilio Esposito and lives with eight rescued muses in Southern New Jersey.Continue Reading

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While outside it’s raining, and sleeting and freezing,inside my crockpot is bubbling with fragrant stew,offering me generous comfort and companionship,embracing the entire house with its delicious aroma oftasty promise, a guarantee of sorts against thecold and hunger,hunger for food to comfort my body,hunger for food to feed my soul withculinaryContinue Reading

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Boiled in the small potuntil they disintegrated. Nowa bubbling whirlpool of purple, tiny strings.Pink roses rise to the surface. A dish for a baby girl shower?I dip—sweet, tart.A ladle in Japanspooning it over brown garlicky meat? Such viscous roses! I dip out the pitswith a slotted spoon.The roses break up,Continue Reading

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Rachel Turney is an educator and teacher trainer. Her photography appears (or is in press) in By the Beach, San Antonio Review, Writers Resist, The Salt, Noom, San Antonio Review, Umbrella Factory Magazine, and Ink in Thirds Magazine.Blog: turneytalks.wordpress.com Instagram: @turneytalksContinue Reading

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I need recipes for exotic dishes –things they never dreamed of inmy ancestors’ hometown of Fly, Ohio. What about Lost Sister Soup –some strange mixture of bone broth,spring greens, mushroomsforaged in faraway hills,and salt pure as baby’s blood? I want a meat pie, its fillingthe color of Phoenix feathers,crust theContinue Reading

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Coming home from playing in the snow,handmade mittens soggy, smellinglike sheep, toes frozen from snowthat slipped inside too loose boots,steamed up windows signaled seriouscooking afoot. And the aroma, vegetalyet grounded in earthy beefiness,my Grandma’s goulash, quite the dish. Onions, carrots, potatoes, tomatoesand braised stew meat, a cheapcut that softened, meltedContinue Reading

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Unborn hole empties churchrailroad ties in a forestcrawdads tadpoles nymphs sold outwho dreamed up Jupiter’s moonscapes Kelp and kale prom dressesthe hunter who bags his palno mention of French parfumstenches of ghetto gutters F-only alphabet soup de jourminesweeper memories of fiscal statisticsbut last place in Ulsyssesfound living moodquick-change artist bornContinue Reading

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Now that I’m rich, I buy broccoli rabe by the bunch,no matter what the price. Same for escarole, Swisschard, organic spinach, avocadoes, artichokes. My grandmother pored through the binof discarded vegetables, haggled to get themfree, picked off decomposing leaves, and cooked.Would she celebrate that I still prepare the foods ofContinue Reading

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The Ramen Shop was near closing when a young man walked in. Though 20 minutes before the posted time, Grace had never had a problem kicking people out early, or opening late for that matter. If anyone ever asked her about whether she lost customers for her erratic hours, she’dContinue Reading

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swirls of brown sugar, lumpy soup,golden pools of butter. no, you say, no!not this! the fireside, the cold walk to school.have you got everything? just gimme a granola bar. the warm, sweet glue.spooning it up. raisins.sticky spoon, residue of gumin the blue bowl. look, not even the cat will eatContinue Reading