A chat with relatives

Thoughtful, unspeaking, With head bowed He scoops clay out of brick And ceramic, That sweeter, finer lining tanned To nut-brown leather.

From a now empty beaker Ringed with ivory, Licked with thin skin, Man Calls to man Through years drained, drowned, backwashed, silted, dumped; But a child, Here under duress By the vessel in the case, Might as well be eating stones.