Issue 001 My Mother Observes

Hannah Tool

My mother observes her first attempt at pottery displayed on my dirty kitchen wall

I watch my adult daughter launch dead-batteried a clock
into the stink of a kitchen trash can and observe her, hip handed, noticing a hole
in the thick and greasy sheen of kitchen wall, a circular space
in the layer cake of cooked on slather gathered by her and a dozen past tenants

she scowls, that scowl, my scowl, at the exactly clock-sized void
then slips by me, wordless, to feed her own scowling child.

later that week the hole is covered
by a ridiculous bowl with a lumpy clay flower, petals frowning and flaccid stem
my clumsy fingerprints peeking along its pushed-in edges
lying, a little crooked and too high, in its belly

a silly bowl whose rim is painted the sickly blue of drowned lips
gaping
my name in loopy juvenile letters carved into its back

a stupid bowl that has never known, will never know a meal
too shallow and too thick

a useless bowl with two holes
too few to make it a colander, too many to hold any bowl type foods
two holes for hanging, a dysfunctional family heirloom crafted
before I was a practiced potter, or a mother
a woman, even

but a young thing with hopeful hands
unbothered, unashamed

Hannah Tool is a writer, parent and educator whose poetry explores motherhood, childhood and the unbecomings of self between and through both. Her work has been featured in Our California and Suburban Witchcraft. She lives in Santa Cruz, CA (USA) with her husband and daughter.