Art Class

The small bowl sits in the corner Ceramic, lopsided, and beige Small fingers impressed in the clay Snake curled in the bottom awaits Made for her momma in art class Wee age of seven or eight Initials inscribed at the bottom A determined look on her face Not really meant for her momma Never liked her too much even then But she did what her teacher told her And offered it up mournfully Mementos and pictures torn down Sweet face and blonde pigtails a dream The small bowl still sits in the corner Snake curled at the bottom stares through It catches the ashes that burn From the incense she lights every night Snake lurking below the embers Of the fire that’s burning her heart