While smoothing the surface
I recalled
and thought of people
who harmed and hurt
my children and myself.
Who never apologized.
My hands kept moving.
Clay does not argue.
It yields, but not without form.
I prayed for healing
and forgiveness
whenever it arrives.
Not forced. Not demanded. Not performed.
Just this:
smoothing the surface
again and again
until it can be held.
Grace will be given as they burn in the kiln.
zarah gagatiga 02132026
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