The potter’s hands are rough from the clay.
Penetrate the ball, and throw it
Little by little
The bottom becomes the top.
In the beginning it was mud
Murky and drunk on the idea of love
The base spins, and we created
Through the motion of time
With soft hands, hardened by clay.
We dipped our thirsty hands in the
Water we kept beside us.
Kicking our wheel to keep time alive.
When it is finished
We carefully cut it free.
Smooth out all the edges,
And sit it in a corner until it is dry.
We stir the glaze with heaving hearts.
Add color to make it beautiful again.
Then we burn it.
Two thousand degrees to finished.
For a time, we admire its beauty as it sits
Undisturbed for a hundred years.
Time of destruction is different than the time of creation.
Our carefully crafted love pot
Will indeed crack
We fill those cracks with gold.
Because we know,
Those cracks are evidence of life.
And life, is meant to be adorned.
When it looked like it was finished
We called it our masterpiece.
We set it aside
When it was dry we set it on fire
To make it permanent
We painted it black and blue
Filled it with fear. And it cracked in the cold
Of who we became.
Some things aren’t meant to be contained
The pieces, if balanced perfectly,
Still fit together on the shelf
And anyone who entered,
Could see the black and blue,
But the fear was still inside.
When the ground shook,
It all spilled out
We picked up the pieces
Daily and still we balanced
Until the last time I
Slammed the door shut.
And all the fear came spilling out.
Dusted on the floor with the jagged pieces on top.
You threw it in a closet.
Where it could be lost
And kept it as a memory of the
Love it once wanted to be.
I went searching for gold.
And you, were learning how to make jewelry
Artists never commit to one medium.
You decorated your life
With tiny prizes and pieces
I sifted through rivers,
Collecting the sun’s shiny
In the corners of my eyes
So that when I would finally sleep,
I could dream of brighter days
On the other side of the river I was crossing.