Dave the Slave, Poet Potter
Huge hands extracted heavy red clay lumps
gleaned from Edgefield's argil soil,
placing it
upon the whirling wheel.
Fingers roughened,
he formed, shaped, with master skill
vessels fit --
massive stoneware pieces, usable, rare.
Sinuous liquid clay upon black hands
like tortured blood from harsh slave-beating wounds,
dripping down dark skin,
branded,
cursed,
damned.
Unique old man, Dave,
a slave, literate --
in times dangerous for his kind to read,
he proudly displayed more than maker's mark.
In poems, quaint,
with shapely script, his creed
was carved upon the pots' serene shoulders,
then boldly signed with his own name.
Yes, "Dave" was inscribed
for the eyes of all beholders.
Forty years he worked for his white owners,
longing, like all enslaved, for freedom, dear.
He lived to see emancipation's dream --
perhaps never knew an accolade sincere.
Six foot under, unmarked,
no one knows where old Dave the slave
lies buried.
Sure enough,
his perfect pots are still discovered:
both he and they
were diamonds in the rough.
© Faye Lanham Gibson, June 14, 2014
Dave the slave lived near Edgefield, South Carolina, and crafted
some of the largest pottery pieces known. He was literate and signed
many of his pieces with his own name and also included on some his own
short poems. His pieces when sold command very high prices.
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