Pottery: A Poem

This poem is about following your heart.

Pottery

you formed me in your womb

like a ceramicist forms a

bowl on the spinning wheel-

slowly and carefully you raised

me up, sculpting my walls

trimming my jagged edges.

even when the wheel stops

spinning you’ll help me decide

what colors to glaze my curves.

After I’ve been fired in

the kiln- your hands will

be covered in clay. the type

of dirt that makes a home

under your fingernails,

stains your favorite shirt

and muddies the living room.

However, forming me was

a labor of love.

But some people don’t like pottery.

they hate the way the glaze

and different clay bodies

stain their hands; how time

consuming sitting at the wheel

can be and how something

beautiful you create can

easily become damaged by

the smallest wrong movement.

It’s true, some people

prefer painting or writing

that doesn’t make the potter

any less valuable

or their art any less

breath taking.

Photo from: https://www.pinterest.com/olgaav/