Bon Appétit

by Kimberly Wilder

Boiled peanuts, watermelon, oysters 
on the half shell. Mashed potatoes, 
Thanksgiving dressing, Gaga’s Soup.
This could be the whole poem. 

Food was our source 
of sustenance - of course, 
but it was our only form
of connection. 

They’ve all departed - a la
death, betrayal, or abandonment. 
Now, when I encounter this cuisine 
I’m forced to recall 

I’m an orphan like 
Anne with an “E.” Just as her
I feel unwanted and discarded.
Leftovers to the garden 

with ease. I am the hated - 
their contempt unsated. 
Gluttonous for more
than food.