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Poetry | May 2018

Amending the American Cuisine

By Shahé Mankerian

Mama sprinkled sumac on greasy burgers
because fast food smelled like burning tires.

Aleppo pepper drizzled like red rain
on the macaroni and cheese. She added

a pinch of cumin on the Cobb salad
because the ranch dressing felt naked

on her tongue. Every dish needed olive oil.
The tap water needed sprigs of mint

because it tasted like gun barrel rust.
In American supermarkets, plastic containers

packaged the dark roast like rodent droppings.
She read in the coffee residue, the fiery

roadblocks of Beirut, the engulfing belly
of the black smoke, and the scorching virgins

clawing against the wall of her demitasse.

2 replies on “Amending the American Cuisine”

B.L.says:
May 20, 2018 at 5:38 pm

This made me gasp with the weight of this mother’s memories and her struggle to amend them. Humbling!

Reply
Shahé Mankeriansays:
May 21, 2018 at 3:05 pm

Thank you. This was a hard one to write. It means a lot that you were moved by the poem.

Reply

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