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Apr 09, 2026
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Opus
I wonder where Nonna went.
She wore her apron all day,
and cut onions to add to virgin olive oil.
And when the sound of the skillet hit the stove,
when the house held the smell of sizzling onions,
Nonna would sing.
And to the onions, garlic was added,
and to the garlic, rosemary, oregano, and basil.
It was an opus of unrestrained aromas,
and within her aria, was the rise and fall
of the bubbling tomato paste, like an overture
making way for the chorus of sliced bell peppers,
and mushrooms, thick, rich, and earthy.
She stirred and sang, and in her voice
was the longing for home, her memory of a land
of sunrises and sunsets, herbs and vineyards
and ladies dancing in the piazzas.
And when her song was finished, when the sauce
was simmering into a sobering finale
and her voice faded, then grew still,
Nonna boiled her pasta in silence,
like a reverent ritual rising in the steam.
The table was set, the chairs were filled.
The prayer was spent.
And when she left us, all those years ago,
I wondered where Nonna went.
About This Poem
Style/Type: Free verse
Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft
Comments
Ray Miller
2 weeks ago
Opus
That's a lovely poem.
The table was set, the chairs were filled.
The prayer was spent.
Like a funeral, I thought. The only slight criticism I'd have is ending a line on "the", my pet hate.
Lavender
1 week 6 days ago
Hello, Ray,
I appreciate your suggestions and comments! I have de-dangled that dangling "the." Looks much better.
Thank you!
L
John Leslie O'Kelley
2 weeks ago
Opus
Very cool description and metaphor, it called me out I wanted more. Your language I thought to be superb. Another great enthralling poem, engaging all of my senses. I hope you live a long, long life! You have so much to offer us!
Lavender
1 week 6 days ago
Hello, John,
You are always so kind. I appreciate our shared love of poetry, and your taking the time to read and comment.
Thank you!
L
Geezer
1 week 6 days ago
This was...
a symphony of smells and tastes in the very air. I remember my mother singing along to the radio while she cooked and worked in the kitchen. [She was a forties girl in musical taste].
To this day, I cannot smell onions cooking without hearing her voice singing, "That Old Black Magic" and "On the Sunny Side of the Street". You have awakened the urge to listen to some 'Mom' songs, as us kids called them. Thank you for those memories. ~ Geez.
Lavender
1 week 5 days ago
Hello, Geezer!
I'm so glad this brought those feelings and memories back to you. I know you've written many wonderful poems about those times. To me, that's the true meaning of "good times."
This is actually about several women in my life - grandmothers, mother, aunts, friends, and strangely even myself when I'm recreating my Mother's spaghetti sauce.
Thank you for reading and sharing your memories!
Lx
William Lynn
1 day 20 hours ago
Thank you
Lavender,
Thank you for this lovely poem. Each line reminds me of my wife's Italian grandmother. Her name was Annie and she and your Nonna are now cooking their hearts out, laughing together, and sharing "secret recipes."
My wife learned to cook from Grandma Annie, and while she is a terrific cook in her own right, somehow, her delicious dishes are close, but not exactly like Grandma Annie's. I "pinch" of this, and a "little bit of that" is, perhaps, the magic that can never be reproduced.
Thanks again, Will
Lavender
1 day 13 hours ago
Hello, Will!
Thank you for your lovely thoughts on this. It sounds like you were very fortunate to have your Grandmother and her fabulous cooking!
L