The Potter’s Clay
Not the porcelain beauty you had designs on,
I was a red-earth mother, homemaker
through and through, ripe for laying
immutable bonds, bearing loads.
I wasn’t to know you were stealing my fire,
whilst tenderly kneading the give of my nature.
How malleable I was, a render to spread
on the façade of your attentions.
When I was soft as curds you turned,
like milk in the sun, such dizzying speed,
you threw me. Slip-slap of palms, you pulled me up,
knocked me back. Your manipulation
plumbed me hollow, fettled me thin,
until I was a frangible object,
a receptacle for your ego, seared
by the rage of your obsession.
After the baptism when I cracked,
you held my fractures up to the light,
wept a salt-glaze over my imperfections,
turned my fault to the red-brick wall.
Stella’s poems are widely published both in print and online, and appear in several anthologies including, The Very Best of 52, three drops, Clear Poetry, and #MeToo. She has an MA in creative writing from Lancaster University.