VISIBLE THROUGH THE CRACKLING SURFACE
Maria Grazia, at 65 years old, takes pride in her kitchen. Here, orderliness feels like love. Her kitchen table greets her this morning as it has every morning for the last twenty years. In the kitchen of the DeLuna-Adamo family home, she has found peace. Each morning, she drinks her espresso and watches the coming of the day.
At the end of each workday, she finds comfort in a final task: arranging Santuzza Turco’s handwoven table runner, adorned with blues, yellows, and greens, over the smooth, hallowed wooden tabletop. In true ancestral harmonization, Maria Grazia follows a Sicilian widow’s devotion—dressing in black while placing her chosen colors on the altar. With a final gesture, she centers the storied albarello.
This morning, at this table, in this chair, in this moment, the sight of the albarello stirs Maria Grazia’s memory.
Her thoughts thread back to a day years ago, when she realized her position in this family was secure—they had come to love and rely on her. That was the same day she rescued this abandoned treasure. In the corner of a forgotten closet, she had discovered an antique albarello, masked in dirt and grime. Inside its stained, cream-colored chamber lay a network of fine cracks—a graveyard of spiders, roaches, and mouse skeletons. Yet, a graceful line in its shape hinted at a different story.
Its vulnerable rim spoke volumes to Maria Grazia, and with great tenderness, her strong hands lifted it from its base and carried it outside. She gently turned it upside down, letting its contents, textured with death, spill out. In a deep basin of warm, soapy water, she had prepared a bath, and with soft rags, she steadily washed away all that had rendered this treasure unseen. Finally, emerging in its century-old beauty—crackled, worn, and faded—the vessel rested on a clean white cloth, awaiting her full attention. Her fingers traced the rim and neck. Hairline cracks forewarned her of its fragility. Yet, it could still hold water safely, at least halfway up—tall enough to support long stems.
In the daylight, its characteristic concave sides evoked the shape of an hourglass—un albarello in maiolica. Faded, yes, but still revealing the story of the master ceramist’s hands on the wheel, shaping it with skill; the story of his fine, practiced eye, painting antiquated patterns on its bisque surface. With glazes of blue, green, and yellow, it had been fired nello spirito dell’amata Sicilia—in the spirit of beloved Sicily. Visible through the crackling surface, the figure of La Madonna emerged.
This morning, at this table, in this chair, at this moment, Maria Grazia breathes life into a prayer.
“Madonna mia, vi prego con tutto il mio cuore. I beseech you, Mother, with my whole heart. I beseech you. Carry my deepest love to my husband and son. Twenty years gone; their lives lost to me during The Great War. If only we had been blessed to live a full life, to share in the joy of our son’s marriage—his bride, our grandchildren. If only, if only we had been granted the good fortune to grow old together. Magari, Magari.
Mary Constance DeRocco a second generation (born here) Southern Italian American born in
Gloversville, New York. Ancestors from her paternal side emigrated from Canicatti, Sicilia,1906.
Maternal grandparents emigrated from Pisciotta, Campania, 1911. She has been artistically
inspired by the women from whom she has descended and these last forty years living full time
in Provincetown, MA. She is a licensed Family Therapist, a published poet and is writing a fictional memoir.
OVUNQUE SIAMO 