Clay Woman

I am a clay woman
sprung forth from earthen mud
molding to the moment...
I am puddied rock
smear my edges that form emerging beauty...
dig in those messy hands, but remember to
Wash the old and crusted clay
drying in your nail-beds
Clay woman...
Craving firey flames that make you breakable.
Fire that muttled color
and see a glossier version of yourself...
So you clay woman --
solid earth and ground,
a touch a fire,
a shiny finish,
reflecting contagious color that's stuck on you...
you are the essence of wholeness, duality and contradiction...
You are strong
you are more breakable than dried up rose petals,
but more solid than solidness itself...
and ready to whisper your knowingness to the next light breeze that finds you...
so others may hear your song
before the wind dissolves your beauty....