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      November 27, 2022Lunch Break in AmericaGina Tranisi

      I’ll have a burrito bowl. White rice. Black
      beans. Fajita veggies. Double protein. Double
      back. Half-scoop of pico. No, I want a bowl of
      broccoli cheddar. Not an apple, a baguette on
      the side. I said a bowl of hot sad. I said a
      Mediterranean bowl. Quinoa. Chickpeas.
      Cucumber salad. A bowl of overturned
      stars. Not stars, salmon. I want a poke bowl
      with upstream fish. White rice. Wasabi mayo.
      A bowl of fixed-blade knives. A bowl of billboards
      for missing women who are becoming dead
      as we send words back-and-forth inside
      this speaker box. This metal order machine.
      This Tupperware container of my voice.
      Might be the last thing anyone hears
      from me. So, an order of asada. I said a bowl
      of bullets. Not a cup of guns. A bowl. A howl.
      A howl of nightclub neon. A tourniquet. A bowl
      of grandfathers who salute shots fired against
      tyranny. A tyranny of Jell-O shots. A blue raspberry
      rifle. A stiletto glitter shoe, stomping teeth
      on beat. No beets. A beating. A bruise. I want to eat
      a bowl of unbearable. I’ll need utensils, too.
      Did you hear me? I said I want the corner
      of an American flag to wipe my hungry
      bloody queer star spangled mouth.

      from Poets Respond

      Gina Tranisi

      “Another heavy news week in America, and I find myself wishing I lived in a country that loved me back. I want a soft life. I want to dance. I want to sing. I want to buy my groceries. I do not want to fear being swallowed by the mouth of a gun. Because of my girlhood. Because of my sexuality. America loves putting our lunches in bowls. I wish we could order bowls of gun reform and LGTBQ+ rights, have them delivered to the doorsteps of Congress. Since that’s not possible, I collected all of these wishes of mine and put them in a bowl, I mean, a poem.”