In the studio this afternoon the light was reflected by the snow. I wedged clay in a shaft of light. I rolled slabs and sifted white clay on my table and transcribed the poem A Dangerous Time through the dust. My words are messy, and when I press my wet clay into the dust it gets further abstracted. But the sentiment is clear. I want to flood the world with poems about how we might show up together. I made five deep bowls with the poem by Rosemerry Trommer printed backwards. The bowl/plates will warp and shift as they dry and are fired. They expand as I press them onto the table and they will contract as they dry. I am accepting of the distortion that happens through the process. These shapes become a safe place for love, for food.
A Dangerous Time
I think of the bones
of the unsung rib cage,
the way they protect
the heart. How bone,
too, is living, how it constantly
renews and remakes itself.
I think of how ribs engage
with other ribs
to expand, to contract,
and because they do
their solid work,
they allow the heart to float.
This is what I want to do:
to be a rib in this body
of our country,
to make a safe space for love.
There is so much now
that needs protection.
I want to be that flexible,
that committed to what’s vital,
that unwilling to yield.
