Asian American Food Poem
“Though I am in despair, I have internet access.”
-Sarah Gambito, “Asian-American Food Poem”
In public school, every apple was a Red Delicious.
Even as a girl, my textural preference for gal-uh or gay-lah.
Each holiday season, my father sold his pineapple glazed ham.
I stopped eating pork as a teen.
Now every week I broil shioyaki, and that is not the Empire’s fault.
Like duty-free Toblerone.
That a produce worker at the carniceria asks me to stop squeezing avocados.
Because I’m Catholic or because I’m an immigrant, I order Filet-O-Fish.
I was in love with a Chinese man, so I ate his ham sandwich.
The farmers market is for people who want to feel good.
I don’t even know what a date is.
I can hate sinigang and not my people.
But I make a baguette from YouTube because the white lady calls it artisanal.