The Potter


The Potter’s hands sent the rabbit

Flying across the page,

My eleven year olds grasping

Onto the soft tail of that fearful child.

Wild and stuffy,

I could hardly contain my excitement.


Bunnies are fragile like that

All emotional with a families

Filled with children aplenty


I often thought of this one

Scurrying in the underground

Away from human eyes,

I think I very well

May have been a bunny

In another life

If there were another life

Would my name remain the same.


The potter wove beautiful

Sentiments over my imagination

And I often felt as if I were keeling over

Under the flatlined mockery

Of a sofa,


Only I loved it so.


Many a night

Did I spend with you,

My white skinned

Black souled rabbit,

With your blue cotton shirt,


Many a night did you whisper me

To sleep, like the pied piper.

But you were not a bunny

You were no rabbit,

No hair,

I wanted to be a potter,

And I begged you to show me how.


Often you’d laugh,

Closing your mouth,

With a self assurance

Of one who knew her craft.


You never said a word potter,

Simply signed the page in your

Scrawling hand.


We have one life

And then the stars.


Leaving little behind you

But an indentation

That simply said



~Melodic Rose~


2 thoughts on “The Potter

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