<!--?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?--><html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xmlns:epub="http://www.idpf.org/2007/ops" xml:lang="en"> <head> <meta charset="utf-8"/> <link href="../Styles/custom.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"/> <title>Swallow’s Dance</title> <meta content="urn:uuid:7087aab2-516e-403f-b205-cde2c263dbf5" name="Adept.expected.resource"/> </head> <body> <p class="ct"><a id="page_263"/><a href="../Text/contents.xhtml#toc20" id="chap20"><img alt="image" src="../Images/chap18.jpg"/></a></p> <div class="bkt"> <p class="hang0">A full moon goes by;</p> <p class="hang">the new one brings my bleeding again –</p> <p class="hang">though I still don’t know</p> <p class="hang">if I can ever be a true woman</p> <p class="hang">now the Swallow Clan’s Learning is gone.</p> <p class="hang0">But for now I’m content to learn the clay;</p> <p class="hang">the digging is heavy,</p> <p class="hang">the hauling is worse,</p> <p class="hang">but when it’s mixed and ready</p> <p class="hang">the clay holds magic,</p> <p class="hang">a smoothness full of unborn pots</p> <p class="hang">waiting for their potter –</p> <p class="hang">and one day,</p> <p class="hang">that will be me.</p> <p class="hang0">I could almost sleep</p> <p class="hang">with the rhythm of rolling</p> <p class="hang">long ropes of clay for Teesha to wind</p> <p class="hang">up from the base of a giant pot;</p> <p class="hang">I roll small balls between my palms</p> <p class="hang"><a id="page_264"/>as we did for our saffron bowls –</p> <p class="hang">my thumb in the middle making the hole,</p> <p class="hang">fingers working to smooth the walls –</p> <p class="hang">and though they’re only dried in air</p> <p class="hang">not fired in the kiln,</p> <p class="hang">I have made a cup and bowl each</p> <p class="hang">for Mama, Nunu and me,</p> <p class="hang">and a jug as ugly as Teesha’s –</p> <p class="hang">jugs aren’t so easy.</p> <p class="hang0">But Mirna, daughter of potters</p> <p class="hang">since the beginning of time,</p> <p class="hang">sings with her wheel;</p> <p class="hang">pots flow into their forms</p> <p class="hang">between her long-fingered hands,</p> <p class="hang">walls eggshell-thin:</p> <p class="hang">bowls, vases and cups</p> <p class="hang">all fit to be fired, painted and sold –</p> <p class="hang">while I, when work is done,</p> <p class="hang">try to mould small bits</p> <p class="hang">as a child might play –</p> <p class="hang">a child like I used to be.</p> <p class="hang0">I’ve made tablets for the palace scribes,</p> <p class="hang">and when Mirna found I could write</p> <p class="hang">I marked tablets for her</p> <p class="hang">with how many feast cups or pots –</p> <p class="hang">or even tablets –</p> <p class="hang">we’ve supplied to the palace.</p> <p class="hang0">Mirna knows who we are</p> <p class="hang">but the palace finds us an uncomfortable truth –</p> <p class="hang">priest-folk who are no longer noble,</p> <p class="hang">from an island that died.</p> <p class="hang"><a id="page_265"/>Safest to keep the story</p> <p class="hang">of the lost village near Tarmara</p> <p class="hang">where folk speak with our accent –</p> <p class="hang">because the way I say some words:</p> <p class="hang">‘octopus’ and ‘evening’ especially,</p> <p class="hang">always sets people laughing –</p> <p class="hang">and we smile when they say ‘valley’</p> <p class="hang">because they say it like ‘bottom’.</p> <p class="hang0">I wear my potter’s hide kilt</p> <p class="hang">over my shift, which used to be white,</p> <p class="hang">stained now with purple and red.</p> <p class="hang">My flounced skirt stored</p> <p class="hang">till the day that Dada returns –</p> <p class="hang">and even in my practice pots,</p> <p class="hang">kneaded back into clay again,</p> <p class="hang">I sign a swallow over a crocus,</p> <p class="hang">the seal that would have been mine –</p> <p class="hang">and Andras says</p> <p class="hang">when we are free artisans</p> <p class="hang">he will make me a seal of stone.</p> <p class="hang0">Dada will see that mark on a pot,</p> <p class="hang">will wonder and search,</p> <p class="hang">until he finds us.</p> <p class="hang0">But what I don’t know, when Dada comes,</p> <p class="hang">is whether I want to be priest-folk again</p> <p class="hang">now the land our clan cared for is gone –</p> <p class="hang">because if I wasn’t working,</p> <p class="hang">busy all day, tired at night,</p> <p class="hang">grief would swallow me whole.</p> <p class="hang0">I know now why Nunu laughed</p> <p class="hang">when I wished my family</p> <p class="hang"><a id="page_266"/>could be potters like hers.</p> <p class="hang">I would offer anything</p> <p class="hang">to change life back to how it used to be,</p> <p class="hang">but even the gods can’t bring back the dead.</p> <p class="hang0">And Pellie, I think, has gone</p> <p class="hang">to the deep underworld</p> <p class="hang">from where there’s no return;</p> <p class="hang">she doesn’t speak to me now,</p> <p class="hang">in her own or her oracle voice;</p> <p class="hang">my heart calls for her, and aches,</p> <p class="hang">and sometimes, when I laugh with Teesha</p> <p class="hang">or share a look that needs no words,</p> <p class="hang">it aches even more.</p> <p class="hang0">So I tell Pellie my life, just in case she can hear,</p> <p class="hang">tell her that Mama has learned to sweep –</p> <p class="hang">she hums and smiles and loves her broom</p> <p class="hang">and Mirna says the workshop floor</p> <p class="hang">is cleaner than it’s ever been.</p> <p class="hang0">I tell her that Nunu</p> <p class="hang">soothes crying babies</p> <p class="hang">for the mothers in our lane</p> <p class="hang">and is called Grandmother by all.</p> <p class="hang0">That Chance has grown tall</p> <p class="hang">and found dog friends to roam with</p> <p class="hang">but always returns</p> <p class="hang">to our feet at night.</p> <p class="hang0">That Teesha is clever as well as kind,</p> <p class="hang">sharing friendship,</p> <p class="hang">teaching me more than clay,</p> <p class="hang">and I am teaching her to write.</p> <p class="hang"><a id="page_267"/>But the first time</p> <p class="hang">the purple slaves came</p> <p class="hang">with their sledge of shells</p> <p class="hang">my stomach clenched</p> <p class="hang">and I could hardly breathe –</p> <p class="hang">not from the stench</p> <p class="hang">but the memory of fear,</p> <p class="hang">and grief that I’ve found freedom</p> <p class="hang">while others have not.</p> <p class="hang0">I tell her I’ve learned</p> <p class="hang">to hide the nausea,</p> <p class="hang">smile and thank them –</p> <p class="hang">so Teesha has started to do the same.</p> <p class="hang">And one day,</p> <p class="hang">a master craftsman,</p> <p class="hang">I’ll find the small bait-gatherers</p> <p class="hang">to free them into</p> <p class="hang">apprenticeship too.</p> <p class="hang0">Then I tell Pellie</p> <p class="hang">of the swallow’s nest over</p> <p class="hang">the door of our home;</p> <p class="hang">I’ve seen swallows dance in the sky</p> <p class="hang">and hope to see fledglings</p> <p class="hang">in the nest come spring.</p> <p class="hang0">I tell her that although in our old life</p> <p class="hang">Andras could not be my friend,</p> <p class="hang">he is a true one,</p> <p class="hang">and also:</p> <p class="hang">his voice is deep as a song</p> <p class="hang">his eyes are soft</p> <p class="hang">and he makes me laugh.</p> </div> </body> </html>