The Pottery Firing at Mata Ortiz: Mexico
Janice S. Fuller
The wind raged across the potter’s yard.
I watched Olivia gather sawdust for the black pot’s bed.
It settled gently on the nest.
An onyx bridge joined two parts of her pot.
I watched Olivia gather sawdust for the black pot’s bed.
Anticipation burned in travelers at the site.
An onyx bridge joined two parts of her pot,
the twins were etched with matching birthmarks.
Anticipation burned in travelers at the site.
The wind was steady from the west.
The twins were etched with matching birthmarks.
Cottonwood piled high around the sacrificial mound.
The wind was steady from the west.
A pyre lit with diesel.
Cottonwood piled high around the sacrificial mound.
At first the fire resisted.
A pyre lit with diesel.
Flames lashed out like dragon’s breath.
At first the fire resisted.
The pot cured, came to life, a beauty born in heat.
Flames lashed out like dragon’s breath.
The fire died.
The pot cured, came to life, a beauty born in heat.
The wind raged across the potter’s yard.
