bring me that piece of pottery
the one that feels like poetry
whispered words that slipped
from lips dry like sun-cracked earth
thirsting now to touch the flow
of lines and patterns in polished clay
thrown and balanced on earth’s wheel
brushing fingertips of soul
an Adam vessel smooth and cool
now centered on the stage
as curtain draws a final bow
the spirit spins complete
and snaps the golden thread
to sing eternally.
“Bring me that piece of pottery, the one that feels like poetry.” My husband’s cousin made this request, and the words he spoke surprised even him. David enjoyed antiques and acted in many stage productions. He passed away a week ago today.