Art Time

Art Time

Joshua sat still.

The clay was wet &

his teacher, he knew, was

watching him from the corner,

the corner by the

boy's room,

by the drinking fountain,

near the door that

led out,

could take him down the hall

past the office,

out the heavy metal, scraped

up doors of

Kennedy Elementary &

onto the blacktop playground &

down the block toward

home.

The sun coming through the window

was cold---

& it was a small window,

but big enough to

cast a dull white glow

over the formless lump

that crouched there in front of him

on the desk &

the light seemed to whisper live, but

nothing was happening.

Then, his hands moved.

He rolled a narrow

cord of clay

stretching it longer and closer to the

edges of his work mat.

He pinched small bits from the

larger lump,

pressed them between his

thumb and forefingers

& attached them one at

a time

to the long stem.

There in the coldness

with Ms. Hamner looking on

with very little movement

or commotion at all

Joshua's rose bloomed.