Pink & Blue Womb-men

The idea of pots that speak up
And Clay—
--Clay for god's sake—
Voluptuous females,
Womb- men crafted by male egos,
Such good sized jugs,
Inflatable bedroom fantasies made by the hundreds
For desperate husbands
twenty-five centuries ago...
Throw the clay in the center
Build the pillar
Build the fire
Raise the shape of the hips higher and higher
A hole in the center
Where the grains and oils, and wine spirits and beans
And her brains and my fingers can enter. How she wobbles.
Spin her round and round
Til she squeaks and hollers
"faster, faster"._
Squeaky sounds around the village as the big wheels revolved,
whirling dervishes
spinning pots
eyeing their neighbors
spinning pots
comparing notes
with the competition
revving their engine;
Going no where FAST
but hours rehearsing
sitting, potting,
speed up, slow down
not doing anything.
Greater vessel, lesser vessel,
Women with jugs and jug handles,
And women without,
Sex pots, smudge pots, honey pots;
Everyone master at his art
None admitted clumsiness on his part.
"Kissing My Ancestors"pg 10 BB Smith