My poem about food as I'm submitting it today:

Thirteen Ways of Looking at Black Beans
 
I
Shaking in brown pods,
the blueprints
were for black bean plants.
 
II
I was a stomachful,
black beans becoming me
not yet me.
 
III
When the Word became dinner,
each black bean was a paragraph.
 
IV
You whisper you
to me.
You whisper you and refried black beans
to me.
 
V
I can’t say which is most honest:
the anger of the hungry
or repentance of the fed;
the gnawed silence
or the gnawed black beans.
 
VI
The cans arm the pantry,
silos of peace.
The flesh of the black beans
waits unsprouting.
The mercy
within their flesh
prays without voice.
 
VII
O hungry philosophers,
why await the apple of knowledge?
Do you not see how your black beans
tremor with the plumpness
of the dark earth?
 
VIII
I’d hand cans out to crowds.
I love the love of legumes.
Even this
does not diminish the black bean
upon my tongue.
 
IX
The soaked black beans, fat and blue,
hide khaki flesh
and other hues.
 
X
The black beans fixing nitrogen
on other worlds
drew “alleluia”
from both atheist and priest.
 
XI
He flew amongst hot white thoughts
atop Platonic cinder cones.
He feared the drowsiness
of the earth
in the weight
of black beans.
 
XII
The dinner bell is ringing.
The black beans are dense and hot.
 
XIII
It was soup for breakfast.
It was steaming.
It would be steaming
black beans fattening
a corn tortilla.

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