A reciprocity of rituals
By Elisabeth Contreras-Moran
Early morning sun yellows a grey mist that lifts up to the window ledge, sending shafts of weak sunlight into their kitchen as he stands at the deep sink and fills the kettle. The kettle is moved to its base, its lever gently pushed, as he walks to the cupboard. Out of the cupboard comes her most colorful jarrito, which he warms under running water, adding two teaspoons of sugar to the bottom; she prefers sweetness to bitterness. Setting a well-used single serve coffee filter on top of the mug’s mouth, he meticulously measures a level scoop of her cinnamon café de olla. When the kettle softly sings its readiness to add to the reverence of this ritual, he pours the water over the scented grounds and waits patiently for the water to trickle down and for cinnamon and sweet coffee aromas to fill the air. The light in the room silently shifts upwards while he bides seconds. Opening the refrigerator to get the glass cream bottle their milkman delivered that morning, he hums quietly. When the water from the coffee filter has emptied, he removes it and adds just enough cream to make a beautiful shade of brown, stirring so softly. He pads into another room on socked feet to place this lovingly prepared liquid in front of her. She is sitting at her desk, writing, as is her morning ritual. Wordlessly, she sips, closes her eyes, smiles wistfully as he pads away to start his day. When the light in the kitchen has shifted again, to full sunlight or rain, when the mists have disappeared or reappeared, when the sun has lowered on the other side of the house, she will take her great grandmother’s cast iron pan, hold it carefully in two hands, warm it over moderate heat, and lovingly lift from the kitchen stores a meal to nourish. The meal is served at their old oak table, set with plates and utensils, glasses and wine. He will close his eyes, breathe in the scent of cumin, garlic, chillies and family history and then smile at her as she sits across from him, with her own plate too. The sun will set, the shadows will lengthen and consume, but they will not notice.
Elisabeth Contreras-Moran is a Xicana environmental scientist turned poet. She has an undergraduate degree from Princeton University and further science degrees from CUNY. Currently living in England, she creates at night, when the world is quiet. Her poetry has been in Litro Magazine, Moss Puppy Magazine, Equinox, The Ascentos Review and the Somos Xicanas anthology from Riot of Roses Press.
You can read the entire This Makes up the Sky series by visiting: https://womenwhosubmitlit.org/category/the-sky/