Potters' hands are dry <br />From handling wet clay. <br />As oils in the skin are stripped away. <br /> <br />Potters' hands are calloused; <br />Not as rough as hard labor leaves them, <br />Those scabrous scales that form on flesh - <br />No match for wood, brick, stone, or steel <br />That rubs skin to blister, then thicken and scar. <br />But these are from labors of love <br />Caused by movements as repetitious as rituals, <br />And like the smooth callouses of playing guitar <br />That make performance more of a dance, <br />These hard nodes produced <br />By throwing pots perfect the task, <br /> <br /> <br />Potters' hands know the patience of mother's work: <br />Swaddling an infant, <br />Kneading dough into plump loaves, <br />Wringing out the wash, <br />Soothing a feverish brow, <br />Smoothing wrinkles with the heat and pressure of ironing, <br />Plaiting hair, knitting a sweater or mending a garment. <br /> <br />Potters' hands are strong, <br />Shaping clay is not for the weak: <br />Earth resists being molded. <br />God could tell us a thing or two about that.<br /><br />Lillian Susan Thomas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/potters-hands-revised/
