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 thoughts on “The Freshest Phoenix

  1. Your choice of words is incredible, Nate! ‘Formless muck’, ‘blazes in the kiln’ can not be teh same in any other words.

  2. 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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