A cabinet, a bookshelf, an alter
My wooden bookshelf in my bedroom was once a cabinet of sorts in the kitchen; it’s where my mom used to store onions and potatoes. I removed it from the kitchen, cleaned it off, and now it’s in my bedroom where I use it to store books, notebooks, and a few other items. To think that it once stored onions and potatoes makes me feel connected to the earth, and satiated, somehow. An onion and potato holder is now holding books, writing utensils, an alarm clock, a lamp, papers. It’s a wooden compartment with two shelves, a light brown color. I wish it was a deep pure ebony, something dark and bright. I wish it was dark, richly pigmented. I would clean the dust that would accumulate on it with sweet-orange soapy spray and paper cloth. The brown storage unit would be something precious. I’d place an ornament on top of it, a porcelain figure of “prayer-hands”; two hands beside each other, in prayer. Right now, I’m thinking of placing my gold-colored candle atop the cupboard I took from the kitchen, my makeshift bookshelf.
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