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.