BY MICHELLE MO
Note from the author: "[This is a] poem about the flavors that make moments of my life, components of my identity—losing the love language of food and finally rediscovering it again"
home was a taste before it was a place —
strawberry pocky lychees
jelly tubes milk candy
bao zi from the vendors on the street
memories unlock with faint aromas
qq candies for perfect scores
sea salt of the marketplace
spicy smoked kebabs from carnivals
airplane noodles in a foreign land
steamed fish in silent snow
ew? what’s that? leftovers?
the classroom is deafening in its silence
suddenly all the sweet smells of home become pungent odors of the odd one out:
a single sandwich, white bread sans crust sans sauce, replaced the little thermos of home’s flavors for the next eight years.
but my taste buds still hold tales of identity
even when i hide it from everyone else
slowly, slowly, it manifests in the form of
fries dipped in hot pot mix boba trips with new friends
bursts of hi-chews from art class seaweed packages everyone begs to have shared
food is a love language, i remind myself
in the little platters of sliced fruit my parents bring to my room
in the laughter and white-floured-mess of making dumplings together
in the rediscovery of snacks from a childhood so faint i thought i’d imagined them
home is a flavor
that melts in my mouth
and i’ve learned to be proud
to have all these memories to savor
