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Poet of the Month: ‘Thin Spread,’ by Leah Iannone

I need a man
willing to split an appetizer
a man who takes a stance on condiments
just a thin spread man is not for me

if you know me
and know me well
you know that I’m in conflict
not cahoots with mayo

note to my future husband
we’re gonna fry things sometimes
this is non-negotiable

in the spirit of sweet confessions
understand upfront
that I’m sprinkled like salt
in mixed genre scars
I will not cover them
they are part of me

if you’re willing
to dedicate
certain afternoons
to thinking about nothing but white frosting
then this can work

I’m not opposed to communicating
via conversation hearts
hot stuff
be mine
marry me
that’ll be the quirk in us
I hope you feel the same

I believe in this next part very strongly
there is never going to never be seltzer in my apartment

have I mentioned my girl refrigerator?
we’re pretty close
she won’t come between us

just as I assume a position in my body
something always shifts me
but I think with a cake
on a cake plate
waiting the wings
ready to conquer a problem
I can finally start to balance

so if you’re ready
let’s do this
but don’t ever neglect me
and kiss these splendid goodbye


Leah Iannone is The Inquisitive Eater's Poet of the Month for February 2018.

Leah Iannone received her MFA from The New School’s Creative Writing Program. She currently works as a director of academic planning. Her work has appeared in Newsweek, 12th Street, The Best American Poetry Blog, Alimentum, Redheaded Stepchild, PAX Americana, Barrow Street, Psychic Meatloaf, and The Inquisitive Eater.

Featured image via Pixabay.

‘Metabolic,’ by Sarah Beach

But you don’t have an accent
I’m told repeatedly by urban
speech even in feeling or tone
sometimes too reflective of my
own sound that my origin simply
can’t be the south or upper
identity might question its ability
to situate itself north of my head
brimming with the congealed roux
of shame I should be showcasing
thickly from my tongue.
 
Do they mean how dare I shed
the dirt-laden dialect of my father
whose worn hands don’t hold
books but skin deer carcasses
hung from the swingset an acre
back from our home?
 
Or that it’s not enough to wear
inferiority as a cross beneath
my coat I must coat my words
with butter and bake ignorant
sentences voluminous as biscuits?
 
To them I sincerely apologize
with this poem in hopes it’s local-
ized enough for my speech
to be let alone but to myself
I allow the conflict of y’all
and fixing and supper to coat
my gums and bloom ulcers
within my mouth.
 
I take the time to swallow
my Southerness for the self
judgement of my stomach so to
you I can exude the smoothness
a digested history can belie.


Sarah Renee Beach received an MFA in Poetry from The New School where she was a reader for LIT. Follow her on twitter @sarahreneebeach.

Featured image via Pixabay.

Poet of the Month: ‘Loner’s Knack,’ by Leah Iannone

sometimes it’s important
to say to yourself, out loud
people don’t eat their doggy bags
five minutes in the door

I have a loner’s knack
I know dinners for one
that’s the bland lesson
I’m skittish and sensitive
one day it’ll all come together
I’ll claim my flavor
teach my emotions
not to be ashamed about themselves

but then again
if I want my doggy bag in an instant
who cares
there’s macaroni in there!
sure, it’s sad
but also sweet to the point


Leah Iannone is The Inquisitive Eater's Poet of the Month for February 2018.

Leah Iannone received her MFA from The New School’s Creative Writing Program. She currently works as a director of academic planning. Her work has appeared in Newsweek, 12th Street, The Best American Poetry Blog, Alimentum, Redheaded Stepchild, PAX Americana, Barrow Street, Psychic Meatloaf, and The Inquisitive Eater.

Featured image via Pixabay.

‘Eat Me,’ by Lou Bank




Lou Bank is a Brooklyn based photographer and zine-maker. They shoot people, balloons and leftover food. They think of their work as studying mundane absurdities. When they’re not creating you can find them climbing neon-colored plastic rocks and trying really hard not to kill all their plants.
website: loufbank.com
follow them: @lou.bank

 

Featured image via PublicDomainPictures.net

Poet of the Month: ‘Cheese,’ by Leah Iannone

There was a time
when I ate everything
that time I h(ate)d everything
about me

I’d talk about cheese
in therapy
fill my food diaries
with lies
they were pretty
that way

I didn’t want to
work through my issues
with cheese
but at that time
there was no other way
than to map my day
around cheese

you see,
when cheese
is decidedly
the frontrunner
and coming with you
to an island
it warrants a conversation

I didn’t want
cheese
so delicious
and comforting
to be my arch enemy

in fact
I craved to
look at it lovingly
and not always think
it was trying
to take me down


Leah Iannone is The Inquisitive Eater's Poet of the Month for February 2018.

Leah Iannone received her MFA from The New School’s Creative Writing Program. She currently works as a director of academic planning. Her work has appeared in Newsweek, 12th Street, The Best American Poetry Blog, Alimentum, Redheaded Stepchild, PAX Americana, Barrow Street, Psychic Meatloaf, and The Inquisitive Eater.

Featured image via Pxhere.

Poet of the Month: ‘essay on supermarkets and/or fashion’ by Daniel Horowitz

The sartorial is, in civilization, erotic but redeemed in the reframing of dressing as more vinaigrette than concealing : this is consolation for the feminine made terrestrial. The tailor is the tool of both vanity and the flesh, like the low scream in the jungle is for both music and mating.

To clothe oneself is colloquial, otherwise it fails. That is the difference between clothed and covered.

Here the fabric, implications of sheer, are animated only by a linguistic rooted in the tongue, root of our temperatures. This is what we talk about when we talk about clothes. To fashion suggests form, the body you find readymade and yet you wish to make it : not just here but anywhere. Do I look better in my glasses, after all? After rereading Darwin? Have my objects overtaken me? Or do our adornments, specific as they are with human geometries, multiply the godgiven like buttons teem with fingers, zippers too. And a neck, no matter the vernacular, is in performance against “skin and bones.”

To eat, in civilization, is hardly necessary. Survival is ornament to fashion, that is how advertising works.


Daniel Horowitz is The Inquisitive Eater's Poet of the Month for January 2018.

Daniel Horowitz is a farmer, teacher and writer from New York City. His heart lives in New Orleans, where the swamp of dreams speaks in the burst bubbles of an alligator’s last breath. Meanwhile, he pursues his MFA in Creative Writing from the New School and learns from children in Brooklyn Public Schools what the trees say in Prospect Park. His chapbooks, Chorus: A Poem for Voices and becuz can be found on Amazon.com (and if you ask him), learn more on his website lettersandessays.com, send cash not gifts.

Featured image via Pixabay.

Poet of the Month: ‘orange juice blues # 1 million,’ by Daniel Horowitz

fatty cloud sunkissed
yellow juice orangutanging
acid tang tongue listed
catalogue kissing nude papers

stomp on sir if dancing
tamp on right on a pen
is who had to die so
i could be so pure

breakfast and broken slow slaw
yolk spread and oxen
heaving with hoes wore
blues in the stead of my room

that paraphernalia peripheral
of decision discarded gloves
pidgeon’s doved dirtied and white
a glass of milk unmothered

staying for breakfast remains
boned dance afterpartied post-whorled
way the world ends she said
i’ll bang if you’ll whimper


Daniel Horowitz is The Inquisitive Eater's Poet of the Month for January 2018.

Daniel Horowitz is a farmer, teacher and writer from New York City. His heart lives in New Orleans, where the swamp of dreams speaks in the burst bubbles of an alligator’s last breath. Meanwhile, he pursues his MFA in Creative Writing from the New School and learns from children in Brooklyn Public Schools what the trees say in Prospect Park. His chapbooks, Chorus: A Poem for Voices and becuz can be found on Amazon.com (and if you ask him), learn more on his website lettersandessays.com, send cash not gifts.

Featured image via Max Pixel.

‘knife & fork,’ by Shaniece Devieux

with hurt feelings,
and good intentions.

i feast off my sins,
and fast for your forgiveness.

i needed him at lunch but
i wanted you for dinner.


Born and raised in Amityville, NY (yes, that Amityville), Shaniece Devieux has been writing poetry since her first school-supply-list-required composition notebook. She received her BA in English Arts from Hampton University and is now attending The New School for her MFA in Creative Writing. When she isn’t spending her evenings in the West Village, she works as a TA for the cutest kindergarten class in all of Long Island. She hopes to one day write a book, own a Malibu Beach house, and be featured on a Beyoncé album in no particular order.

Featured image: “A woman is being admired by two men, one of whom is taking a closer look through a quizzing glass” an engraving after Domenico Maggiotto.

Poet of the Month: ‘How to Eat an Oyster,’ by Daniel Horowitz

Come to terms with the materiality of tongues of all persuasions.

                        Lover : she may say to you,
in the chill of greengrey evenings, dismal with ugly clouds,
that cups of hot water will be sufficient to pacify you.
Whisper to her, “Usually. But I am too accustomed to
keeping the company of unhappy women.”

                        Beards and grains of wood swirl mystically
—when hauntings appear in their chains and jewels reeking of ozone
you must sit down, eat, and discuss new ways of living without god.

                        It is not autumn all the time, though goodbying.
You lay your leopard carpets, leopard carpets with the faces
of dead Habsburgs in their spots. Sit. Stay a while.
Whisper, “I have been collecting iller and iller fitting pants.”

                        First kisses! Remember. Hormonal feints.
“Puberty : it’s a helluva drug!” Be careful.
Krazy Kat Goes A-wooing is playing on the old TV.
“Something dead,” in a midnight thought you think—
“Something dead should not be, if it must be dead,
so soon dead.” Sea salt. And lemon. And parsley.

                        Is this it? Your whispers—can you speak?
Whispers : “I’ve been trying to find the right diet
to make my sweat sweet-smelling.” Oysters. Though expensive.
But the garden : it is filling with babies. And. “One must
make oneself feel classy, mustn’t one?”

                        Oysters go with no wine at all.
Waves. Waves. Unhappy women : the aphrodisiac
is that bitterness remains edible. A whisper in return,
“Hold old are we? I’m shy about my age? Shy about the paleness
of my lips? Why can’t you be shy about… this… ritual?”

                        And what does our oyster say?
“Touch. I have a beard because I am wise. I have died
so others may live.” We all begin to laugh or rather to tickle.


Daniel Horowitz is The Inquisitive Eater's Poet of the Month for January 2018.

Daniel Horowitz is a farmer, teacher and writer from New York City. His heart lives in New Orleans, where the swamp of dreams speaks in the burst bubbles of an alligator’s last breath. Meanwhile, he pursues his MFA in Creative Writing from the New School and learns from children in Brooklyn Public Schools what the trees say in Prospect Park. His chapbooks, Chorus: A Poem for Voices and becuz can be found on Amazon.com (and if you ask him), learn more on his website lettersandessays.com, send cash not gifts.

Featured image: “Sandra Bruno Straightens a Pillow in the Immaculate Living Room of Her Family’s Home at 39 Neptune Road” from The U.S. National Archives

Poet of the Month: ‘Calories: The Poem,’ by Daniel Horowitz

           “BODY: If we knew how our body is made,
           we wouldn’t dare move.”
                  —Flaubert

We’ll combust. Faintness creeps like a pang
an ingrown toenail—drift: my tummy… And you
standing still, staring at produce like a thigh. Grumbling,
our burn—sweating at cornucopia, hot river gods—
peanut butter’s goo and nut meat, warm:
texture of the womb—pastas well cooked
given under unwise teeth, pleasing—iced cream,
salt on pretzels, slight burn, throat’s dumbshow
its physicality—consumption, a lunged gulp.
Hunger at the hardness of a fresh pepper, red and
like you. Meat’s sponge and animal dung appeal:
also warmth, organ meat’s scented faint piss—
animals, burned to our burn: chewing and alive…

Like all gluttony it is only the indirect flare of desire
to have the world reduced to a few monumental objects:
a mountain, a bowl of beans, a truck, you my dear, and my mouth.


Daniel Horowitz is The Inquisitive Eater's Poet of the Month for January 2018.

Daniel Horowitz is a farmer, teacher and writer from New York City. His heart lives in New Orleans, where the swamp of dreams speaks in the burst bubbles of an alligator’s last breath. Meanwhile, he pursues his MFA in Creative Writing from the New School and learns from children in Brooklyn Public Schools what the trees say in Prospect Park. His chapbooks, Chorus: A Poem for Voices and becuz can be found on Amazon.com (and if you ask him), learn more on his website lettersandessays.com, send cash not gifts.

Featured image: “The Couple,” by Karl Kasten.