Made of Earth, of clay
Compressed for millions of years
By ocean and mountain and ocean again;
Returned to air and sunlight and water.
Shaped, fired, painted, glazed,
The color of moonlight on rippling water.

The bowl is large; it needs to be,
For it contains all the eye-stretching, golden wheat fields
From Kansas to Saskatchewan,
The blue sky above them,
And sun.

The bowl is generous,
A resting place for running waters,
A chalice filled with the nectar of plum and apple blossoms,
Alfalfa flowers purple and white;
All the elixirs of forest, hillside, prairie and garden
That the honeybee’s magic can conjure.

The bowl accepts my hands,
Uses my hands to work its magic,
Strong hands,
Knowing, tender, caressing hands,
Made of Earth, of clay.


From Scales Out of Balance (North Star Press, 1990).
Used here with permission.