Every Friday, we’re mixing things up with a different kind of food writing. More specifically, food poetry to be read slowly, over your morning coffee. Today, fried chicken as a symbol.
Today, fried chicken gets a little more than that, as does all food, for that matter: in this morning's poem, fried chicken, instead of just being delicious, acts as a gateway to interlace war, race, and food all within a single, four-stanza poem. It's good, too, but it's so much more.
Take a minute. Read this, then read it again. Contemplate.
Eating Fried Chicken by Linh Dinh
Photos by Karen Mordechai