CLAY
Miriam N. Kotzin

At first, silence.
Clay. Then,

"I used to have an agency,"
he said, "commercial."

He smoothed the torso
of the odalisque, rounded hips,
stroked flanks,
thighs into being.

"And on the side
I was into abstraction.
I worked in wood.
I cut away.
Then I got into realism,
anatomy."

Bones, muscles,
sinews took shape,
her legs, ankles, feet.

"I bought a skeleton
in a kit by mail. Human.
Real bones. Cheaper
than plastic today.
Put it together myself.
Each part comes in a labeled bag."

In his hands,
her arms extended,
seemed to flex,
her neck to turn,
her head to lift,
her eyes to meet his
inquiring.

"I like clay.
I add now, mold."

He looked her over, going
once around. Seemed pleased.
Walked away.

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