La Chapelle Des Pots
Julia Debski
Small Village Historian,
Pottery Maker, Clay Designer,
Artisan of Quiet Mornings and Subtle Evenings,
Peaceful, humming, gentle,
Chapel of Pots:
They tell me you are elderly and I confirm it without a doubt,
For you have far more history than anyone can count.
And they tell me you are empty and I pledge to its truth,
As the village homes less than a thousand, and the school
Not even fifty students.
And they tell me you are lonely and I agree,
Because rarely do passers by stop and see you in all
your faded glory.
And having answered I turn to those who ignore and mock you,
And I reply to them:
Show me another village where the children may gather
By the stream and play from dawn till dusk,
Or where the last crime was before I was even born,
Or where everyone comes to the school’s concerts and plays,
Because they did the same thing when they went to school there.
Gentle as a butterfly landing on a flower, quiet
Like a creek in the morning caring for its creatures,
Soft,
Murmuring,
Whispering,
Teaching,
Creating, making, recreating,
Surrounding the babbling brook, a smile across her wrinkled face,
loving,
Under the starry night, she cradles her occupants into peaceful sleep,
dreams of past generations filling their heads,
Singing!
Singing, gentile, douce, kind, aged,
Proud to be the Historian of Small Villages,
Pottery Maker, Designer of Clay, Artisan of
Quiet Mornings and Subtle Evenings.
