culinary underworld
By: Michelle; New York, New York, USA
i arrive on the line
i pour suka and tubâ
i sing at the gate
i look beyond the rocks
a river overflowing
used frying oil from bangus
the scent of sewage is no victor
to aging grease
bamboo spits at every corner
kalans piled up to the ceiling
milkfish hang to dry, near
a white t-shirt, still damp
wet from catching shrimp in the ocean
some of the milkfish are cut
split down the back
they are salted
a glimmer of kapwa to me
what it means to
make a meal
that soars beyond an intimate gathering
is that you
with your huge smile
showing teeth
white suit jacket
without a stain
the glamorous guide
to the evening
is that you
reciting the specials
word for word?
when this language is your third?
how do you say “86’d”
in a kitchen
in Waray?
just as a father’s voice is heard
from time to time
in a daughter’s mind
calling her name
showing her the past exists no longer
it is in a distant place
it is farther than sleep
this culinary underworld
is a place where we dance
you have fun in this kitchen
you sing
Michelle is based in NYC. With Pluto finally out of her 1st house, she is feeling more courageous about her poetry. She is currently reading The Alchemist and Braiding Sweetgrass, making pottery, playlists and looking forward to summer.
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