Concrete Poetry
   of Modern Love

    In my Appalachian  family,   love tastes
  like  apples.   Each  teenage   woman  goes     through  a  family  tradition:    mastering a   signature  apple-based recipe    to   feed    her  future    husband. (There  are a    lot   of  apples  in
 Ashe County,   N.C.) My great-grandmother   made
  tarts;  my   grandmother,   pies;   my sister, cakes  and  strudel.  My  cooking    fails were  not so laudable. I burned dozens  of   desserts    before
   I
   came   out   as  gay.   Fortunately,  my  family   accepts me,   and  we still  cook together. Being  queer
 in Appalachia   can  be sour,  but also sweet.    My   family  saves    their   apple   cores
 and   peels,   and   I   ferment     apple
    cider  vinegar.  —   Laken Brooks