05 June 2015

A New Woman

he'll mold her, yes, from the
clay dug out from a river
bank, the birds calling, each

to each, as he forms her, feet
first, then the lithe limbs that
may carry her away from him,

some hollows, too, in the palm of
her hand, so she may offer him
water, when he thirsts, the shells

of her ears, porcelain, translucent, listening,
always, but only after she has been twice-fired,
vitrified, this self-made woman

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