In the dream
I chased the glass rod
With flame.
Now here I sit, rod in hand
Before its heat…
Glass, slowly softening,
Rotated by shy hand,
Glowing, moving…
My first tear-drops fall.
At last we are together,
Learning Gather and Stress,
Watching small explosions,
The shattering of glass
Heated too fast
In my anxiety to get results.
Slow down…
Take time to learn.

With practised ease
My teacher takes a wand,
The mandrel.
Heating rod,
She slowly winds a bead
A bead,
Before my very eyes…
Time races by,
Colored glass curls round,
Cooling in the soft end
Of the flame.

At the end of the day
My fingers with familiar grace
wed gold and glass,
And, smiling,
See new earrings born…
The dream become reality.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, December 17th, 2003 at 3:36 am and is filed under poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.