Clay

I molded her

Shaped her

Watched her take form in my hands

Heat waves pressing

Pulsating

Melted away harsh bits of her face

Soft

Pliable

She became

Clay in my hands

Changing

Recreating

No longer a form

She was a life of her own

I had given birth

Hours

Days

Weeks

Passed me

I once measured them by

Tides of the sea

But gone are the days

And the numbers escape

They are too many

Years later

I saw her face of clay

A moment was much like our first

But something changed

She was still and had taken her place

Upon the table as an ornamenting vase

Marred by the scars imprinted in her skin

The clay had hardened

And become thin

Chipping at the ends

In a moment I realized

She was no longer in my hands

The more I pulled her

The more she slipped away