Food and Culture at Raven
Reality Cooking Show
by Kelli Russell Agodon
The chopping block disappears beneath onions and garlic.
R. sorts out the pieces by size and soon everything
in the room sizzles with its scent. Our cat's eyes
water. I open a window and the moon shrinks
a few miles in diameter, stars begin to melt.
Even the dead plum tree leans a bit further
into our neighbor's yard. When R. raises the heat
on the stove, the house inhales and every wall touches
our skin. He tells me that you can’t make a meal,
without becoming the meal. He says this about a life to:
be it or make it. We try to decide what we've done,
but we don't talk much over the sautéing vegetables,
the background static, the applause of the oil
like thousands of onlookers wondering what we'll do next.
Picking Cherries
by Kelli Russell Agodon
By mid-morning, our fingers were stained
red
like beads my sister carried
to church, the virgin’s heart,
the dress my mother wore
on the patio, my father with a rose
between his lips, wet beer bottle
in one hand. In the fields, we passed
a crate of cherries to each other,
our own dance.
By late afternoon, we were part of the fruit,
red
sunsets nearing in the distance,
red rice and salsa we would serve
for dinner, the red dress my mother
tore when my father dipped her,
her hair falling onto the floor,
years untangling themselves
from a life.