Red Glaze - Cagibi

My life is a vessel I made on a Ferris wheel. 
It’s wonky & collapsed on one side
(can’t hold water) 
but it has a red glaze. 

This shows potential, the teacher says. 
It’s too bad you’re old because in 30 years you could
win an art prize, but surely you’ll
be dead by then.

I love the teacher. 
She’s so honest, so talented too.
And her mugs really function as mugs.
Same with her bowls. They work. She can put soup
in them. I’ll bring her some clam chowder. 
Why wouldn’t I? 

I’ll get it at Publix. I’ll tell her I made it 
myself or just infer that I have with my
facial expressions and body language. 
I’ll use my whole body, giving my
looping varicose veins center stage.
They’ll spell out my secrets
in indecipherable cursive.

She’ll ask for the recipe, speaking
in adverbs that way she does. Surely is her 
favorite. Gingerly is up there too, a top tier word.  
I’ll say, I don’t know where I put the recipe.

Surely you can find it or write it down from memory,
she’ll say. Maybe, I’ll say. Maybe not. I am old after all.
She’ll tell a new student on the Ferris to approach the clay
gingerly. Don’t attack it, she’ll say. This is not a mugging. 

One day I won’t come back. 
I’ll be too busy with a new passion: origami.
No lessons this time. 
I’ll fold as I like & crease as I see fit.
I’ll make a bird and fortune teller combination.
It won’t be functional as either or look like either. 
It will upset people who need things to make sense.
I won’t care. I’ll laugh like 6000 hyenas. 
I’ll put some red glaze on the thing, 
I’ll fly it on a windy day
like a kite.