(Part One to be used in paper)

This piece was inspired by “Exercises in Style: Sonnet” and my relation to wedging clay.

Here she enters,

moving with precision in her deathly stained apron

and me, wrapped in plastic

all wet and ready to melt in her hands.

some how we’ll start this damned conversation

Then comes the wire – or maybe raw hands – both dry in a shocking way.

With no warning, or even prep-talk, just slipping, and pulling apart my whole.

She pats me in a manner thats supposed to make me melt – melt into a circular style,

to become whole again. Her hands cursing against my skin, and this, I can appreciate.

She pounds me down, again and again. Taking the air right out of me, finding success and a smile when I no longer have pockets within me.

and I know, that when my pockets have been turned inside out, I will become rich in a new way

maybe to hold golden tea

or fermented grapes

or those sweet beans from down south.

She does have my best interest in mind.

                                                               Doesn’t she?