‘Food has everything to do with poetry. I like to compare poems to appetizers. Appetizers are a tease—they’re the palate whets filled with nonstop allure. ‘ from What Does Food Have to do With Poetry?, by Dorothy Chan, 2019, Poetry Foundation.
Mrs. McClain, 7th Grade Group One
On a sunny Saturday morning
I’m feeling hungry
My stomach growling
I try to open the fridge
But it is stuck
So I pull harder
And it opens then
There I saw it
A glass container of blueberries
Sitting on a shelf in the fridge
I reach forward
And grab the container
Then I close the fridge
And go sit on the bench
At our kitchen table
Then I open the lid
Reach my hand in
And grab a handful of blueberries
And take a bite
There is an explosion of flavor
In my mouth
Then i walk back to the fridge
Put it back, close the fridge
And go back to bed
When i take that first bite,
I can’t contain my happiness
The sweet but somehow savory
Some time cheese some times spicy
My dad making it for me in
The kitchen with the
Breath of the wild in the background
When I am sick
Makes me feel like I have some amazing
Healing power
Mrs. McClain, 7th Grade Group Two
It was the afternoon on a Tuesday
After camp
In my backyard
My pool looked so refreshing
I went inside to grab a cold drink
But wanted something colder
POPSICLES
I grabbed my favorite one
The bomb pop
You could hear the crinkles of the rapper
I walked outside and felt the humid wind up against my face
I took a bite of the popsicle
And a wave of happiness ran through my body
I started to get a brain freeze because I ate too much too fast
After it went away, my sister came out screaming at me
Apparently, I took the last bomb po,p but
She didn’t look in the freezer
I showed her where the other 5 were
I could see the happiness on her face
When she saw there were still some left
Una tarde nublada, la casa quieta,
y la pizza saliendo del horno como un tren viejo soltando vapor.
El olor a orégano golpeó mi nariz,
y por un momento sentí que el calor
en mis manos era un pequeño fuego que me devolvía la alegría.
Translation:
One cloudy afternoon, the house quiet,
and the pizza coming out of the oven like an old train releasing steam.
The smell of oregano hit my nose,
and for a moment, I felt that the warmth
in my hands was a small fire that gave me back my joy.
Mrs. McClain, 8th Grade- Group Three
Walking out of school,
the March wind blows on my face
I move past the clusters of children and parents.
Eventually,
the golden arches signify that I have reached my destination.
Trash on the tables, the air smells fried,
coins jingle in a cashier’s hands.
Order 803 is called
The Shamrock Shake is in my hands.
I reach my hand deep in my backpack
Shuffling through the lip gloss and
Mints in a zip bag
The silver lining flashes
In my eyes
I slowly unwrap it
It always shines
I glance over
To make sure no one
Asks for one
like its a clover
I place it on my tongue
The cold gum sits sizzling
But not for too long
As I slowly stretch it out
It softens to the perfect texture
Chewing and chewing away
I wish the flavor would always stay.