written for my dear friend and extraordinary artist, D Whigham

THE POTTER

The wheel spins.  She throws
heavy clay, imagining.
Her hands move quickly,
forming the moments of life
for the fire and the flame.

It’s been a year now,
since she kissed his face goodbye.
The days are her kiln:
if she isn’t dry,
she could explode in the heat.

But still she shapes them:
casting, carving, both her hopes
and her pain, trusting
that when her work is finished,
God will say that it was good.

2 thoughts on “POEM: The Potter

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