In E-Mart we find a box of brownskinned
Chico or Sapodilla beside green bayabas
in plastic sleeves. The old Star
Margarine from your childhood
is in its familiar yellow plastic yellow tub, but now
goes under the label Star Classique. You still wonder
how tins of liver spread came to be named Reno;
how many times you ate breakfasts of fried egg
and Vienna sausages; if calavaza is the same as kabocha,
moringga the same as malunggay. The shelves
in every aisle are packed with jars and containers
inviting you to look, to listen for the crackle of crisps
through foil, to what bids you enter that space and trust you'll
recognize it if not by touch then by sight, or smell, or taste.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
