Make Me New
by Tamlyn Ailsa MacPherson
Take my deformity, throw down the clay.
Push me and pinch me, and mould me this way.
Take what was unsightly and cast away;
Turn white to black and night to day.
For I am the living, I am the dead.
I am the spider and the fly.
I am the block and, upon it, the head.
I am the killer and I die.
Cut me up, a traitor’s fate;
so the poison will drain from me.
Guide me here from traitor’s gate
and may your blade fall sharply.
Look upon me this last day,
then banish me from sight.
I am the dawn that finds its way
and chases clear the night.
I am sorrow, and yet joy;
I am pain and I am pleasure.
I am ornament, I am toy,
I am burden, I am treasure.
I am devout and I am heathen,
I will shout and you shall listen.
Potter, throw me upon your wheel
and pinch and push me ’til I’m real.
Cut and shape my fragile frame
then bake me strong with searing flame.
From the little slimy lump you threw,
you make me real;
You make me new.