When the Clay Calls
By Nora Naranjo-Morse
From her book - Mud Woman: Poems from the Clay (University of Arizona Press, 1992.).
This clay starts calling to me only days after I've sworn it off
wishing to leave tired hands to rest,
wanting to release myself from the browns and reds
that bend easily into gentle curves,
instantly becoming a child's face
a woman's skirt, or her husband's smile.
Resting from lines I review,
have reviewed,
and will review again.
Dusting off the sanded earth
as coarse surfaces level into fluid forms
I had not yet discovered,
so smooth and yet richly textured with life of its own.
I am in awe of this clay that fills me with passion
and wonder.
This earth
I have become a part of,
that also I have grown out of.
By Nora Naranjo-Morse
From her book - Mud Woman: Poems from the Clay (University of Arizona Press, 1992.).
This clay starts calling to me only days after I've sworn it off
wishing to leave tired hands to rest,
wanting to release myself from the browns and reds
that bend easily into gentle curves,
instantly becoming a child's face
a woman's skirt, or her husband's smile.
Resting from lines I review,
have reviewed,
and will review again.
Dusting off the sanded earth
as coarse surfaces level into fluid forms
I had not yet discovered,
so smooth and yet richly textured with life of its own.
I am in awe of this clay that fills me with passion
and wonder.
This earth
I have become a part of,
that also I have grown out of.
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