Pottery
my mind has been seeing warm potter hands
molding a clay bowl on a wheel
ten years from now, i will be married
to a potter with a scruffy beard
an intimidating nature
and an aura my parents hate
tiredness will chase
my battle between stability
and the creative pursuit
i will be home thirty minutes
past my teenage curfew
full of indignation and spirit
there will be an office job left behind
a type writer collecting dust
stacks of bills unpaid
dried clay stuck on my nailbeds
2 thoughts on "Pottery"
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
‘i will be home thirty minutes
past my teenage curfew
full of indignation and spirit’
Hell yeah! Even though this comment is the first sort-of interaction between us, I still get the sense that you are being unapologetically you in this poem, and that’s awesome.
This poem holds a great many artist’s dilemmas in it–personal made universal.