Ceramics

My thumb crushes the soft clay, pushing a single fingerprint into the malleable surface.
I take the clay into my hands, rolling it into a ball, methodically wiping the surface with water.
I jam my thumb down the center, and I increase the crater, using the tips of my fingers 
To create a bowl.
I wipe away the cracks with water, strengthen the surface with well-placed slivers of clay, 
Connecting the pieces.
The surface becomes as smooth as a glass mirror,
And I wonder,
As I wash my hands clean,

How many of my problems could be fixed with water?
Copyright © | Year Posted 2021

Poem

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Hankins Avatar
May 13, 2021 at 12:06 PM
Interesting thought. Certainly brought to mind baptism. Enjoyable read, Georgia.
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