i always write about flames

like talking about burning

would make the impact less severe.

i always write about flames

because maybe being refined

is the only way i will ever feel whole again

​

but what if i do not want to be fine china?

fragile to the touch

tragic when it is cracked

devastating to be knocked off its shelf

with a remorseless gesture

crashing to unrecognizable pieces

before being swept up and thrown away

never to be remembered again.

​

let me be clay forever

not ever knowing the fiery kiln

do not burn china out of me.

form me into endless meaning-- 

let the innocent hold me

and let them even make accidents,

dropping me in gentleness

of pure, real life living

let those falls form me,

to teach these children

that just like their own every days,

clay, too, holds memory.

​

i am not a pretty piece to be looked at but never held.

do not remember me perfect

remember me honest

hold close this clay

with curiosity and without critique.

there is a story to be told

in each crease and crevice

secrets the surface will not tell.

​

when finally one day

i am nothing but dried out and crumbling pieces

ready at last for renewal, to be remembered only,

and never again to be held

love me for the life that was lived

in each one who once knew me well

each of their fingerprints having marked up and molded

the being that i will one day be

and when they drop me

may they learn from the fall

how to love the next piece

that turns up in their hands

may they realize that even beautiful,

priceless china

is meant to be held.