We wade upstream
away from the
sheer shimmer of
a watered horizon,
past great green rods of
ancient horsetails
up into a shaded
glimmering, a slow constriction
of land, and when we begin
to slip, we know we have arrived
—our fingers find the smooth,
the slickness in our pottery class memories

We gather unctuous handfuls,
begin the coating
arms painted with gray green,
the smear of face
then elephant skin appears
on our shoulders, the pore’s
embrace of clay

And as we stand back
at the beach,
drying before the wash,
some of us think of hydrous aluminum
silicates, some of us of treasured
pinched bowls we brought home
brimming with pride to our
kindergarten parents, all of us
thinking about
the slipperiness
of fun