Pulled-neck bottle with flared lip, glass (2012) by Ben Geithner

by Bernadette Geyer

Glassblower

Passed down through centuries, the tools remain
the same—their use adapted for more modern
tastes. The blowpipe pulls a gather of
the molten glass; the gaffer spins it as

he blows to form the parison—a bubble—
rolled in bits of colored glass, then marvered
to a simple shape against a carbon
paddle or a metal plate. A breath

into the pipe: the piece becomes a vase,
a pretty thing. Using the calipers
he elongates the glass, as gravity

takes hold to arc the pull. This swan-necked vase
will fit a single bud. Impractical,
its beauty is desired nonetheless.

***

Marble

I am the stone chiseled from the womb of the mountain
the stone trucked and chucked into one anonymous

warehouse or another to bide out time with the other
stones, whispering our tales of yore along seams of ore.

O desired patterning of crystallized limestone—Rosa
Verona, Arabescus White, Persian Green, Portoro

Gold—names to safely evoke the foreign for those
who venture only as far as their Viking range, opening

French doors on a double-oven, under the Tuscan tiles,
astride the Travertine, beside myself. My metamorphosis.

O let me be not countertop but tombstone thrust
into blessed ground—memento mori, memento priores,

 memento pro tempore. All is rubbish. Even I when I,
unseated by granite, fallen from grace, fallen to shard,

find myself ground to useful uselessness, to gravel,
to grovel, beneath so many pedestrian feet.

***

Miscarriage: A Nursery Rhyme

There once
was a passenger
in this fleshy boat.

There once
was no more than
a lump in the throat.

It was thought
we sailed four (although
never quite sure),

and then back
to just three: all
that was meant to be.

About the artist: Ben Geithner works in residential construction and was introduced to glassblowing and woodworking in high school. He enjoys working on small, relatable vessels with strong form.