Jordi Alonso

                              for Mara Vulgamore
The potter’s wheel whirrs
while wet hands beat a bowl into shape.
Roughed with diamond grit,
the clay’s soft surface takes on scores
of scratches, sanded down
into a semblance of smoothness.
Fired at fourteen cones,
graphite burns
and hair-thin fissures scar,
filled-in with glaze.
There is violence
in the throwing of ceramics.
Just as bones are battered
shattered bowls are tossed aside.
Like bones, too,
porcelain can set
(and lavender smells sweetest
when it’s bruised.)
Joined shard to shard
by lacquered streams,
gold spiders through
green porcelain.