Her hands move slowly,
Carefully, smoothly,
Working the clay
Into a smooth bowl.
She thinks of her children,
Who will use this for food,
And pass it on
From generation to generation.
Her careful hands,
Worn from years of work,
Fill the cracks and gaps,
As she wishes she could fill
The crevices in her life.
All the mistakes,
The sins and the messes,
Things that can’t be forgotten,
But can be forgiven.
She smoothes the pot,
And sets it aside.
She smiles a small smile,
And wipes her hands on her apron.
She pulls her weary body up,
And leaves the pots in a small circle
For people to see how her life turned out,
The cracks and spaces,
Still not filled.
