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“Although I adore my husband, some days I really identify with Piercy's poem "What's That Smell in the Kitchen?":[br/][br/]All over America women are burning dinners.[br/]It's lambchops in Peoria, it's haddock [br/]in Providence; it's steak in Chicago;[br/]tofu delight in Big Sur; red[br/]rice and beans in Dallas.[br/]All over America women are burning[br/]food they're supposed to bring with calico[br/]smile on platters glittering like wax.[br/]Anger sputters in her brainpan, confined[br/]but spewing out missiles of hot fat.[br/]Carbonized despair presses like a clinker[br/]from a barbecue against the back of her eyes.[br/]If she wants to grill anything, it's [br/]her husband spitted over a slow fire.[br/]If she wants to serve him anything[br/]it's a dead rat with a bomb in its belly[br/]ticking like the heart of an insomniac.[br/]Her life is cooked and digested,[br/]nothing but leftovers in Tupperware.[br/]Look, she says, once I was roast duck[br/]on your platter with parsley but now I am Spam.[br/]Burning dinner is not incompetence but war. [br/][br/][br/]”
Lady Dixie wrote this review Sunday, July 8 2007. ( reply | permalink ) Was this review helpful? Yes | No
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