Rising to Surface by Robbin Farr

Rising to Surface

It is Sunday and I am chopping onions
as I’ve been taught, perpendicular through
the onion half. The root holds the layers

in place. My chef’s knife slices clean cuts
across the heart, then chop. Chopping
a fine mince. The small pieces fall away

ready for sauté where they will shimmer
in two tablespoons of olive oil.
My grandmother simmered her tomatoes

over a low flame. From my tall stool
pulled up close, I surveyed kitchen,
grandmother, sauce. Watched

bubbles break the surface with a barely
audible plop. Stood watch for boil-overs,
wooden spoon ready. Felt the solid spin

of earth as family gathered from church
driving crosstown in their Oldsmobiles
and Pontiacs. A chorus of car doors slammed

and my cousins ran across the mown
grass despite my grandfather’s glance
of consternation. The screen door slapped

in its frame, sent vibrations through
the kitchen where the boys tumbled in,
fresh scrubbed, still suited in Sunday best.

These days. Before the divorces, before
losing boys to war, to unaccounted lives.
These days when all that was needed

was gathered in my grandmother’s kitchen.
This Sunday will be chili, small cubes
of beef tossed in cumin, red pepper,

oregano, flavors adjusted with each taste.
I will watch a slow boil, heat rising in bubbles.
The sound of the past surfaces, breaks.

*

Robbin Farr writes short form: poetry and brief lyric nonfiction. In addition to writing, she is the editor of River Heron Review poetry journal. Robbin’s work has been published in Cleaver, Citron Review, 2River View, Atlanta Review, and elsewhere. She is the author of two books of poetry, Become Echo (2023) and Transience (2018). She is most happy when revising and submitting. Writing terrifies her. More about Robbin at robbinfarr.com. Follow her on X: @robbinfarr.