It was always linguini between us. Linguini with white sauce, or red sauce, sauce with basil snatched from the garden, oregano rubbed between our palms, a single bay leaf adrift amidst plum tomatoes. Linguini with meatballs, sausage, a side of brascioli. Like lovers trying positions, we enjoyed it every way we could-artichokes, mushrooms, little neck… Read More Food Poem – Linguini by Diane Lockward