First time I see a jar rise up,
I be midwifed into life.

Understood how these pots and I be kin
-- dismissed to what’s under foot.

I learned to turn and turn --
people the world with pots.

I pour my need into the knead
until forty thousand around me crowd,

but everything I love, I lose
so I want what I mold to hold.

Even my empty pots
be full. One say:

I wonder where is all my relations
Friendship to all – and every nation.

There are lanterns in my words –
every story got another story.

Some call me Dave the slave, if that’s all they got,
I say leave the rhymes to me.

When people look at me, a slave be
the first excuse they use not to see me.

I say praise me. It won’t fall on deaf ears.
I catch praise like most people catch naps.

I am a 6-foot vessel of anything, but ordinary
a one of a kind with a Carolina shine.

I stepped out of the rows of cotton
to master the potter’s wheel.

I take the wind out of can’t.
with my mark, I make a mark.

I sign my name Dave.
I don’t write slave.

See if my pots and I spin history.
See if we    hold    hold    hold