when i was sixteen i worked at The Grand Union
as a cashier after school and weekends.
double time on holidays.
one of the first "gourmet" groceries of the area
it catered to a specialized crowd.
People Who Gave Dinner Parties. soap opera actresses. retired vaudvillians.
artists who didn't starve.
i stood there in red and white polyester
and weighed and bagged and toted.
i rang up exotic fruits from islands i'd never been, gnarled roots with the dust of africa still clinging,
slivers of portugese saffron in delicate, glass jars.
i did my homework.
i studied the geography of produce, learned the best cuts of meat, discovered the alchemy between bittersweet chocolate and wine.
and when the customer left through the sliding glass doors home, to family dinner, i never felt more alone.
the smell of smoked cheese on sundays still makes me cry.
