Tastes Like War: A Memoir

by Grace M. Cho

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live. The gifts of the world are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … ….. Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling down selves as we put ourselves back together once again at the table. This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun. Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory. We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here. At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks. Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite. —JOY HARJO, “Perhaps the World Ends Here”