The rice is an offering. I pray into it to protect my sister. My mother’s energy remains within it, having passed through her hands. I hand-dyed the rice using food-safe dyes, mimicking the colors of traditional sawdust carpets. I invited my mother, who was visiting for the first time in 19 years. Together, we created a design inspired by Otomí patterns my grandmother taught both of us to embroider. My mother lit up the room as she worked. I watched her eyes shine as she mixed colors.
