This poem was written as a collage using words from a vintage cookbook similar to the ones pictured. I collect these cookbooks because I also write cookbooks, and I like to see the progression in the field. Some of these were written for new gadgets at the time; some were written for brands; others were themed; and some are personal, handwritten books that are deteriorating. In that respect, nothing's really changed. But language-wise, these older books use diction and syntax that we no longer employ—and poetically, they lead to such surprising places. This poem is one in a series that I began when I first started to go through my books in anticipation of a move. I realized that I would have to downsize my collection and put most of the ones I kept in storage. We did eventually move this past November, and I have unpacked a few boxes so far, but the book that this poem came from is still apparently in storage.

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