Basket of plenty, cornucopia of blessings, giver
Of life. Emblem of prosperity and abundance.
Though you proceed from the humbling,
Dusty walls of shameful metropolitan
Factories, of mindless managers
Who overwork the poor, who view
Selfless entities such as yourself
As mere products, as profit, your nascency
Is anything but disgraceful. When you were
Birthed, machines and metal whirred
In proud applause. Your fellows clinked
Their glass lids together, celebrating
Your creation. From the very moment you were
Boxed, imbued in you were gifts
Of power. Of purpose. Of the promise
Of home. How lucky, blessed, indeed
Graced by the divine, I am, for you
To have found your home in the chaos
Of my kitchen. O bearer
Of edible pearls of the orient. O sacred
Uterus of stainless steel and plastic. O Teflon-lined
Magical chamber in which lowly, indigestible
Grain transforms into glorious, heaven-
Sent clouds of nourishment. You are
The salvation of bran, the messiah
Of oryza sativa, the redeemer who chooses
Not whom she saves. In you, all crop
From red and brown to jasmine and calrose find
A mother. A nurturer, a caregiver, with no
Complaints, no demands, no impositions.
With only the numbing, violet fuel
Of electricity you give sustenance
When asked. With only a small space
On the kitchen counter you provide the most
Reliable of companionships. Most dependable.
Most unchanging. You stand by me when others
Do not, you on your small, delicate
Feet of tireless rubber, on your holy mat
Of microfiber towels. When the world
Is against me, when I am derailed by the bone-
Crushing abasement of bosses and aunts-in-law,
You are there for me. You listen to my laments
With patience, with compassion, and when I seek
From you a response I receive not
Anger, nor unsolicited advice, but
Refreshing wellsprings of soft,
Strengthening meal. Through
My pregnancy, through my doctorate
Theses, you cared for me in the mornings,
Noons, and nights, in moments of burning
Gastronomical desire, in moments of crippling
Nausea, in homesickness. I am grateful for each
Day that I pour grain and water into you
To be transfigured, that I am graced
By your alabaster armor adorned with cerulean
Lilies — a reminder of the peace, the handfuls
Of heaven you bring to me.
Of life. Emblem of prosperity and abundance.
Though you proceed from the humbling,
Dusty walls of shameful metropolitan
Factories, of mindless managers
Who overwork the poor, who view
Selfless entities such as yourself
As mere products, as profit, your nascency
Is anything but disgraceful. When you were
Birthed, machines and metal whirred
In proud applause. Your fellows clinked
Their glass lids together, celebrating
Your creation. From the very moment you were
Boxed, imbued in you were gifts
Of power. Of purpose. Of the promise
Of home. How lucky, blessed, indeed
Graced by the divine, I am, for you
To have found your home in the chaos
Of my kitchen. O bearer
Of edible pearls of the orient. O sacred
Uterus of stainless steel and plastic. O Teflon-lined
Magical chamber in which lowly, indigestible
Grain transforms into glorious, heaven-
Sent clouds of nourishment. You are
The salvation of bran, the messiah
Of oryza sativa, the redeemer who chooses
Not whom she saves. In you, all crop
From red and brown to jasmine and calrose find
A mother. A nurturer, a caregiver, with no
Complaints, no demands, no impositions.
With only the numbing, violet fuel
Of electricity you give sustenance
When asked. With only a small space
On the kitchen counter you provide the most
Reliable of companionships. Most dependable.
Most unchanging. You stand by me when others
Do not, you on your small, delicate
Feet of tireless rubber, on your holy mat
Of microfiber towels. When the world
Is against me, when I am derailed by the bone-
Crushing abasement of bosses and aunts-in-law,
You are there for me. You listen to my laments
With patience, with compassion, and when I seek
From you a response I receive not
Anger, nor unsolicited advice, but
Refreshing wellsprings of soft,
Strengthening meal. Through
My pregnancy, through my doctorate
Theses, you cared for me in the mornings,
Noons, and nights, in moments of burning
Gastronomical desire, in moments of crippling
Nausea, in homesickness. I am grateful for each
Day that I pour grain and water into you
To be transfigured, that I am graced
By your alabaster armor adorned with cerulean
Lilies — a reminder of the peace, the handfuls
Of heaven you bring to me.
Ikera Olandesca is a student and leader of a Literature Club, school literary journal, and digital school art museum.