The Potter
(for Eva)

Here I try to breed vases and tiles
but the weather shows no support

So much rain
Nothing dries

Here the weather arbitrates all
where evenings fall wet, early

Families with scabbed knees
echo red in courtyards below

Lighting fires

Stiffened limbs

Here mine are workers’ hands
raw pleading when clay wets

Winged fruit tile

Harvest vase

Dreams are everyday objects
baked and bubbled, embossed

Glazes pale at vanishing point where the rooster wakes me

There is love for surprising textural qualities to evoke liveliness and stir up curiosity

while maintaining a strange comforting regularity.

Hollis Kurman