Lake Lewisia #522

[scrubjayspeaks]

To say the pots were made while she slept would be a mistake, eliding over the active verbs, the conjunction of hands with clay, allowing the implied subject to transform into something mysterious. She did not remember making them when she woke, not even as shards of dreams, but she was still the only one who woke with pale clay caked in the folds of her knuckles, terracotta moons beneath the nails. She made pots in her sleep, she fired them when she woke, and she claimed both halves as her own, the dreamtime things and the daylight ones.

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LL#522