Strong Hands

This poem originally appeared in The Akros Review, a literary journal of the English Department at The University of Akron Spring 2000 issue

She has strong hands that twist clay--

Georgia red dirt clay,

terracotta the color of an Italian summer,

pale porcelain like geisha faces.

Grey dust, red dust,

brown crumbly dust,

mix with water.

The wedge on the wheel dances and

this clay creature shimmies up,

born of the wheel and her

strong slip-slippery fingers.

Wash it in fire,

swaddle it in liquid glass,

kiss again with flame, and

it is finished—

fired.

She holds this newborn vessel,

inspects it close and,

still unsatisfied,

smashes it with

her strong hands.