it’s all about the holding
is what a poet can learn
from a potter. that’s how
earth unfolds into bowls wood into paper dung into
fuel, a you-and-me into an us
its about holding a void
as wide as the behinds
of our fierce foremothers
so that someday, someone uses it to hold some sugar-some
sizzle, to feel a little less alone
it’s about holding trust
in the wheel of the solar system,
in the kiln of our innermost flicker.
Hence, a mug can teach a poem - how to allow four fingers to slide
into its half-heart handle
it’s about holding back
the need to be an owner
letting our babies break
or be under/mis/over used, as once our hands are off
our eyes must let go too
we’ve shaped with our bare hands
the space for a pond
now let them dip, let them stir