The Wheel

Wheel spinning, whirling
Creating, shifting
A mold into a masterpiece
Gently folding its layers
Through skillful love 
And steadied intention
From its unrecognizable misshapen mass
Through its completion
A thing of beauty
A token of life
Meant to endure
Holding trinkets and memories
Babies tears and baubles
Her expert eyes seeing this thing
This perfect container
Before it is even aware
That it was almost meant to be 
Something to behold
A treasure
Shaped by its maker
Herself a vessel 
Her art
Her love
Her life
The wheel lays silent
Missing her touch
Remnants of clay remain
Hardened and proud 
They once, at least,
Had the blessing of her hands

© Shira Adler
July 23, 2009