Ancient pot

Ancient pot

The ancient pot lies broken
Beneath the bench in the garage
Ancient is relative, of course.
A hundred years ago
The blue green pot sat
Ensconced in a little used front room
Of an Iowa farmhouse
Collecting dust, deer antlers, sea shells.

Rescued from auction
It moved to South Dakota
Illinois,
And back to Iowa
To the space once occupied
By the pot,
To the house where
Death had come
And would come again.

But before death could enter
The pot was given
To a generation twice removed
And brought to Colorado.
A well traveled pot
Now ancient, fragile.

Set outside
In semi-arid climate
Where cold and heat come
In unpredictable waves
Frozen water expands
When ceramic does not.

A broken ancient pot
Now lies beneath the bench–
Too precious, too ancient,
To be shards in some future
Archaeologal dig
And impossible
For human hands to piece together.

I too am an ancient pot
Molded from time immemorial
From ancient clay
I too have traveled
From place to place to place
Residing here and there.

Now the strains and stresses
Take their toll
And soon (how soon?)
I will lie broken beneath
my maker’s bench
And wait for resurrection.

Sent from my iPad

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2 Responses to “Ancient pot”

  1. pastormjh Says:

    Thank you for the meaningful insight and thoughts! Miss hearing your share them in person!

    • road2emmaus Says:

      Thanks Marty! This was one of those things that are given, just have to be open to it sometimes. I enjoyed writing it.

      Looks like you are really busy these days. Can’t imagine teaching every day and then doing pastor work in the evenings and on weekends. Hats off to you for that one!

      Bishop gave me a job as world hunger coordinator. I go to a meeting for Region 5 next week. We’ll see what we can do with that. Also get to preach the last Sunday of Jean Piagliaro’s maternity leave. She’s doing the narrative lectionary. I get Jonah the Sunday I’m there. Should be interesting.

      Say Hi to Dave and the kids. Hello from Mary Jo.

      Dave

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