The Secret by Carol Lee Saffioti-Hughes

Navajo weavers

embed a skip, a miss

a drop in the pattern—

reminder—

defiant imperfection

humbles the weaver and wearer.

Japanese potters emboss the broken

dark porcelain

it falls in shards

but the hands rework

with gilded lines

make the forsaken rare—

trace cracks

praised not hidden.

If I were the weaver, the potter,

all would be tangled threads

and gold.