THE HEAD:

I dug this clay with my hands, from deep within the earth,

Now I await watching & wondering, to what it´ll give birth,

I look longingly at the clay & the clay looks longingly at me,

A shapeless lump of dark red clay is all that I can really see.

I wet my hands & run them over the dark red & waiting clay,

I lift it up & I throw it down, but all it does is sit still & stays,

I thump, I pinch, I squeeze, I mould, I pat, I slap & also knead,

 The clay just sits quietly still on the table & pays me no heed.

With no plan, no thought within my tired & confused old head,

I rub & massage the clay, instead of heading towards my bed,

The clay starts getting softer & warmer, the more I feel & touch,

The clay & I start to yield as one & we both begin to relax so much.

I am still unsure & still not knowing the way I want my clay to go,

I still don´t know how this dark red lump of clay will form & grow,

And yet, all night I pound, I knead, I tickle & I gently, softly mould,

The dark red sticky clay, between my fingers, feels warm, wise, old.

I realize as the cold night slowly goes, passes & into dawn advances,

It´s the clay moulding me & I know that there are no second chances,

As the day dawned, we became one, flesh & clay, the new day & I,

Breathing in life, we both, together with breath & a life-giving sigh.

As the dawn slowly cracks the morning in the far Eastern rosy sky,

I look down at my red lump of clay, now a face with a tear in its eye,

There is a tear too running down my own old & tired, furrowed face,

And where the lump of clay once lay, there is now a head in its place.

I notice that the old lump of clay is the face of my father, now long gone,

He smiled at me from his moulded clay lips, as the golden sunshine shone,

I put the smiling head in the window, for it to greet the sun & facing east,

Happy to have my own father back, even if it is only in clay at the very least.