Kitchen as Altar
Abuela's pilon (Grandmother's mortar and pestle)
created magical elixirs with
garlic, oregano, cumino (cumin), salt, pepper
transforming, transmuting
the ordinary kidney bean
or a freshly killed chicken
into a sacred meal.
The pots also played their part
seasoned over the years with her loving
attention and yes, food became God.
God became food.
And sharing this food around a simple table,
voices clamoring over and under each other,
love at high volumes is Grace.
Mami's Altar
As long as I could remember, there were always altars atop a chest of drawers in her bedroom. The altar was framed by images of the Sacred Heart of the Blessed Mother and Jesus Christ, who were always pointing to their hearts aflame. Today I realize all 3 of her children, all of us, were altars as well. Upon us, she poured her love, attention, discipline, light, prayers, water, food, medicine and laughter. Tending daily to us all the same, as she did with her altar in her room. There, too, she offered daily offerings of prayer, a lit candle, a glass of water and sometimes tobacco in the form of a cigar.
Many years later, when Mami died, a dear friend noticed I started buying black shoes just about every week. Black shoes of all types started to pile up outside my apartment door, as it was my habit to not wear shoes inside my home. She said I was walking through my grief. My pile of black shoes became an altar, of sorts, to my loss and remembrance of the one who first taught me about them.
*Little Altars Everywhere is the title of a book by Rebecca Wells
