Poem

Impressions

I like to press
My thumb into a
Swollen leg

Moist spring soil
Clumps of molding clay

Order some lasix
Cap the IV
Watch my thumb print fade

In five years
This woman will not
Remember me.

So many pots and plates,
Shaped the best I could
With artless hands;
Pressed and dented.

Baked hard in kilns of time.
Sanded smooth.
Shelves upon shelves of
Brittle bones.

7/8/18