The clay was pottered over
by the tips of her silence
earth groping for meaning
in earth
my soup collects
in her fingerprints
she left her porous heart
along its walls
for flavours to seep through
she was thrown into a handle
hardened in his rage
her kneads gently slipping
off the wheel over time
when your own kiln
is a hearth of betrayal
the temperature of tears
dissolve into rigid fire
you glaze over past lives
each one a bowlful
radiating outwards
beyond the turning lips
of sleeplessness
in the deep of the churn
she centred the clay of all her bodies
hovering up around the hollows
and turning the flatness
of opacity into sleight.
← Mrinalini Harchandrai