Hestia

To honor Hestia, goddess of the Hearth, I have taken to lighting a candle on the kitchen table at my mother’s house when we eat the evening meal together. I am not sure that my mother or sister knows what it is meant for, but it makes me feel better to have an offering of light for her at mealtimes. The established convention among Hellenists varies from honoring her once a week in a meal to offering her portions of all of one's home-cooked meals.

Unfortunately, the near-constant snowfall recently has presented a rather strong barrier to putting offerings outside, but the temperature outside is also well below freezing. This means that most of my cultic worship has occurred inside, and I am trying to minimize the amount of offerings I make that will need to be properly disposed outside. This means that I have a steadily-growing amount of incense ashes in my offering bowl now.

Hestia, first and last
child born of Rhea, swallowed
and kept by Kronos,
twice-born like all your siblings,
you tend the worlds’ hearths.
Elbows bent, hair protected
from the licking flames,
each god knows your sacred part
of sacrifices;
all revere you, offering
sweet incense and fat.
Eternal maiden, you take
these precious things;
then with necessary warmth
you reciprocate.
As breath enlivens a gas
stove’s flames, please accept
meek utterances, simple words,
and keep watch over
stove-fires fluttering, dancing—
yes, watch the modern
hearth;—let these words please, goddess.