Oh, face, mother wrought,
Clay molded by fingers that
Molded me, welcome!
Grace my walls
With your silent lips
And unseeing eyes
A clay memory of
Tender and talented hands
Unadorned by jewels or paint
I found you again,
hidden in bubble wrap,
Your holding basket on a shelf
Welcome back to my sight, beloved
memory of my mother’s art.
Who will take you when I am gone?
Where will you live then?
It must not be a trash heap, and if so
Inclined, bury the face in the garden.
Copyright © 5/31/2026 by Andrea O. Corwin Thanks for stopping by! 😃 If you like ♡ my scribbles, hit the subscribe button. Please consider leaving a comment. ✍️❤️
About the Creator
Andrea Corwin
🐘Wildlife 🧘♀️ 🖋️🈷️ 3rd°🥋 See nature through my eyes and photos.
Poetry, haiku, fiction, horror, life experiences. Written without A.I. © Andrea O. Corwin
bigcats4ever.bsky.social
Threads/ Instagram @andicorwin
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