Weaving Stories of Washing Rice
#BlackLivesMatter
This article is raising awareness for
black futures lab
Which transforms black communities, to change the way power operates
Rice turns the water opaquely milky
Like fog sifting over long grass
I plunge my hands into the water through the rice
And make contact with metal
The water clouds
My mind wanders
A sigh releases thoughts
Like dandelion chutes in the wind
Like rice caught on the water’s surface
How many times have I done this task?
In how many countries?
For how many different kinds of cuisine?
Always wash.
To lift the bugs
To find the stones
To make it fluffy
To remove talc
To cook faster
There’s always a reason
Even if you don’t need to.
Scooping and letting clear water run through
Like my friends from Manila showed me on Guam
Swirling and never touching it
When I was in France
The endless agitating and rinsing
Till the water was as clear as a Micronesian lagoon
Ferocious whisking like the Mad Hatter in a Japanese Tea Ceremony
Waiting to settle and pouring out till crystal clear
Or the self-assured single rinse through warm water in a mesh colander
With my Louisiana Gumbo
It doesn’t matter
Jasmine rice,
Basmati,
California Pearl,
Thai Delta,
Japanese Genmai Brown
Or misnamed Wild Rice from Canada
Even instant rice gets rinsed due to habit and distrust
My fingers distort in the water
Images appear and race into the mist
To places I’ve been
The food I’ve made
The people I’ve shared meals with
Somewhere in the world
Someone must be preparing a meal
Watching the rice making the water chalky
Memories flood back
And hopefully
They think of me.