Clay Changes
S
Susan Lacovara
0
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You pressed your hands
Into my belly made of clay
Kneading it
Rolling its thickness
Between your fingers
Molding my morning sighs
Shaping the surrender
Of my soul
Spinning me on your pottery wheel
Of promises
I was formed from a wet clump of gray
To a hardened piece of porcelain
You thought might look nice on a shelf
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