lennonalive

pottery studio

by lennon cox

the curvature of the

body, i like to think,

is the most

intricate of art forms

i imagine a creator 

holding my clay

between her hands,

and pressing the flesh atop

my bones, twisting 

together my intricate edges

between the webs of her fingers 

how delicate she stretches 

the lines over my skin, the

canvas over bone

painted with a palate akin

to every color on earth

i imagine all the lines she crafted

telling a story, giving movement

every line, a story

a smile and an experience,

each gift of expression

crafting me further, 

deepening all divots

and giving way for creation

i like to imagine

she wove some of my mother’s 

hair into mine, or

stitched together our limbs

the same way,

because i see myself

in the blueish grayness

of her eyes 

i can imagine the creator

carving into her collarbone

and making note

to admit the same pressure

when beginning me

i can feel the same

dimples on my cheek,

and press the same tip

of my fingernail into

the mole on my

hip, just as my mother’s

the same as my grandmother’s,

the age both behind and

in front of me

as i finally relish

in the act of aging