By Shamshad Khan

Produce of
 
Wherever we are
 
as we tug on the gold plastic seal
 
coiled in the top of an olive-green bottle
 
whatever we are planning to cook
 
for those we love
 
pour glug after glug
 
thicker than blood
 
oil into an already hot pan
 
whether we do
 
or do not taste
 
the amber pain of groves
 
of families uprooted
 
naked beige stones
 
thrown down
 
with no land to land on
 
and grow
 
may depend
 
on the country of origin
 
on the label we held up to the light to read.