Hands of Red Clay
She crafted the hands of red clay
hours of cultivation perfected them
before kiln dried
manicured and baked again
For years the hands rested on shelves
rubbing porcelain figurines and pottery pieces
She adored the hands of red clay
allowed her students to critique
but never handle them
all intrigued by the veins and lifelines
palms and knuckles
nails and cuticle
their uniqueness all but touchable
Some believed the clay was dug
from an ancient Indian burial ground
others convinced their creation was
inspired by her late husband
while a cult following proclaimed
the blood of man flowed inside them
The hands were crafted of red clay
hours of cultivation perfected them
while years of uncertainty
kept them alive
originally penned in 1996
rewritten april two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
Reblogged this on thesewordsiwrite2012 and commented:
I could go on and on about what a superb storyteller I believe J Matthew Waters is (and I’m sure I have while re-blogging some of his previous work). However, I’ll let his writing do the talking instead. Enjoy!
thank you very much my fellow poet