Poem: Fragment (Or 'So Sayeth Pot of Potter')

 ''I love my Maker

for making me

because had He not done so

I would not have been'' 

-This, from a broken vessel

beneath the window sill,

Kicked around by countless feet, 

until she picked it up, 

the old one who lived alone, 

damned as witch, whore or worse; 

But the priest had thrown it out, when it had sprung 

a leak

and replaced it, with copper vessels 

of sturdier make;

Whey, then, had she taken it in, 

that which had been thrown out? 

Some voice from amongst the assembled 

in hushed whispers said, 

''Perhaps she loved it,

as something no longer useful

but shaped by a Master Hand'' ...  

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from the collection The Anvil of Dreams, 1995