Claywoman by Jacquie B.

She sat, head bowed, hands poised
Thoughts of inadequacy spun out of control.
The soft moist wetness caressed her knee
Giving thanks to the Creator
For Earth that kept shape.

Before she touched its richness
She asked for direction.
She went deep in her soul for guidance,
Would it be a pot for cooking?
A vessel for water?

Her hands trembled as she beheld its coolness,
Before she took its essence upon herself.
She loathed to desecrate, to rob
The heart of Earth Mother,
To cause pain.

Reluctantly, hesitantly, she grasped the essence,
Holding it high, she offered a plea
To Spirits guiding her hands.
Head held high, eyes closed, hands sure,
She worked swiftly and surely.

Droplets of moisture fell from her brow
Moistened her work, hands deft, brow furrowed
Slowly, shape formed from nothing
Nothing mattered, time ceased
Breath comes in ragged gasps.

Softly song fell from wooden lips
Songs old as Earth she molded,
Song of praise for Gods of all things,
Praises of life, of her people.
Words of heart, her soul burst forth.

Finished, no longer one with Gods,
One with Earth Mother, One with her soul
Song faded, hands trembled, spirits waned.
Life with meaning only for work,
The Earth draws her deep within.

© 2000. J. Britton all rights reserved

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Claywoman
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copyright 04-04-2001

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Prose-n-Poetry.com

Claywoman by Jacquie B. copyright 04-04-2001 Age Rating: 18 to 127

Claywoman
by Jacquie B.
copyright 04-04-2001

Age Rating: 18 to 127