I will write of the common moments –
The easily overlooked –
Rich with our blood,
Salty with our tears and sweat.
Not the perfumed, party-going selves,
But those we live in daily,
Overwhelmed by their sturdy beauty –
Everyday pottery that never seems
Good enough for company,
But withstands the sudden slipping
Out of hand, clatter to the floor
With nothing more than a small nick.
Of course the heart always knows
The value of our laughter as we work,
And of field hollers and work songs
That help us find
The rhyme and reason for our labor.
*the Common Moments
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