The Freshest Phoenix

I hear the satisfying plop of wet clay and then the wheel spins and spins. Each hand curves, pushes, and smooths, lifts new life from a formless muck. The past cakes underneath my fingernails; the future, slick with glaze, blazes in the kiln. I wait to greet the freshest phoenix.

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8 Replies to “The Freshest Phoenix”

  1. Beautiful imagery in your words. Loved the line ‘The past cakes underneath my fingernails; the future, slick with glaze, blazes in the kiln’ — very poetic.

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