clay moment

I love clay
I love the feel of it
the texture
the colors
its squishability

I love how it oozes personality
how it becomes one with my hands
an extension of my thoughts

sometimes resisting
but never complaining
when I push
or prod

never just a lump
there is always something hidden inside
it simply sometimes takes time
to ponder
to listen
to feel
for the heart
just waiting to be exposed

to be workable
shapeable
moldable
clay must be damp

like us
the clay of us can be dry
old
cracked
and tired

it is our tears
often arriving unbidden
that enables a tender molding
pressing
shaping

under the hand of the potter

so that
in the end

with fragments of us
lodged under his nails
we forever bear his fingerprints