Mother always buys the best pot,
Fine grains of clay hardened with a fire red hot,
Sculptured with a skillful and cautious stroke,
Beautiful patterns winding from bottom to top.
One had a deep crack on its rim,
Riddled with scratches along its patterned belly,
And a jaded base that slightly tilted its posture,
But mother always made sure it was brimmed with water.
When mother balanced her only pot on her head,
Carefully steading the jaded base gently on her head,
The cracked rim mixing water with sweat on her head,
Our neighbor’s distant laugh echoed in her head.
Our neighbor’s daughter broke their only pot,
Its beauty drenched in sudden sorrow and distraught,
Her tears sparkled in the fading embers of the sun at dusk,
But mother’s cracked pot quenched their thirst.
EXPRESSION THROUGH WORDS. 