Glazed Over
Doing as I’m told wins out
over my fear of fire.
I put on protective mitts,
pick up iron tongs and
practice lifting pots so I can
remove some from the kiln.
As the teacher raises
the raku dome,
I see
my white-hot pottery
and reach into Hell.
The plates I pluck,
I place in papered cans
and feel the fiery flare
until I clap on lids
and I’m done.
Wabi sabi time, the teacher says,
perfection in imperfection
crack, craze, or crackle--creating
elusive maroon or muted mauve.
Initiated by fire, I lift the lids
and search through cinders
for each Phoenix.
Hindu Tradition
Friends study
the god Ganesh,
an elephant man,
deity for everyman,
providing protection
and prosperity.
The friends take clay,
shape the Hindu idol--
torso, trunk and tusks--
hoping worries,
whispered
into wingèd ears,
will fly with the wind.
|
by Jeanie Greensfelder
Psychologist, poet, Women's Press writer, Hospice of SLO volunteer . . .
|
The Lesson
Slam it into the center,
spin the wheel till the clay
stays steady, poke a hole,
pull your fingers slowly
toward your belly button,
the teacher tells me.
I wobble, then jerk
my bowl askew
with a warped beauty
that speaks to me.
He swipes it away,
slams new clay,
guides my hands
shapes a perfect pot--
so not me.
Reflection
Something
satisfying,
sobbing
at the mirror.
Seeing
someone
feeling
sorry
for me.
|
