Saturday Mornings in Belleville

Lyrics

[Verse 1]
The wheel starts and my hands get stupid
which is the point
All week they're the smartest things
in the building — mapping fissures
closing the dura, speaking Latin
to residents who flinch
Saturdays they forget everything
and I let them
The clay doesn't care
about my citations
[Pre-Chorus]
Nobody is watching
Nobody will grade this
The bowl I'm making
will hold nothing important
and that's the most important thing
I've held all week
[Chorus]
This is the love that has no story
No beginning, no betrayal, no arc
Just wet clay turning
and my foot on the pedal
and the window open in Belleville
and the hour disappearing
without telling me it left
[Verse 2]
My dorsolateral goes quiet
around minute twenty
The part of me that monitors
and judges and corrects
just — leaves the room
like a stern colleague
who finally went to lunch
What's left is just the hands
and the clay
and the sound of the wheel
which is the sound of something
going nowhere in a circle
and being complete
[Pre-Chorus]
Nobody will buy this
Nobody will frame this
The glaze will crack
within the year
and I will love the crack
more than the glaze
[Chorus]
This is the love that has no story
No beginning, no betrayal, no arc
Just wet clay turning
and my foot on the pedal
and the window open in Belleville
and the hour disappearing
without telling me it left
[Bridge]
I made a cup last April
that leans fourteen degrees
to the left
I drink my Saturday coffee from it
and the coffee lists slightly
toward the window
as if it also
wants the morning light
This is what I'm trying to say
about love:
sometimes it leans
and you drink from it anyway
and the leaning
is the best part
[Final Chorus]
This is the love that has no story
and I am not going to give it one
Just wet clay turning
and my foot on the pedal
and the window
and the wheel
and the morning
asking nothing