By Denise Griebler, Detroit, MI
I know hope in clay.
Soft and cold in my hands, I turn and pat wedge to ball. A tender rhythmic caress.
Alongside radiator clangs and spews,
window pours in sunlight, together they warm my shoulder.
Sit and slap a mound of mud to wheel.
Breathe. Lean in. Center.
Who Knows what will rise up?
Sitting in a circle with people can be like that.
Listening to each others’ stories,
of women, of struggle, of courage,
of the people before,
of earth and water and air and fire,
we breathe, lean in, and center for the long haul.
I love when we listen and speak to each other,
when we re-member and re-commit to practice our connectedness.
We are learning all the time. Who Knows what will rise up?
Nearby, I hear tears and laughter.