Formations

by Amy Soricelli

I would be patient with the round, smooth nature of clay.
Liquidy moist, easy - shiny, smooth.  I would move my fingers
so gently around its edges...coaxing the beauty from its
undefined form.
The swollen dirt like brown caramel between my fingers; I would run
it smooth along the round of it.
There would be outside noises seeping through the window while my foot
worked some sort of pedal in sync with the cars, dogs...footsteps.
I would lead its very rim outside of itself -
and lace it through my fingers like silk.
Others around me busy with their thumbs - palms filled, speckled with design.
I can't separate their rhythm between the hum of the air and the solid speed of the shape it takes.
It would become a bowl or a vase - light lavender with yellow flecks - I would shine it up,
gloss its face - place it on the table when its done.
Toss kisses into it.