CLAY POTS AND NO PLASTIC

I grew up in a place like this
pacific in black and white
a glow from clay glaze in greys
light and dark shades as they should
                    do not remember any in colour
                    no plastic imitators pressed
                    into shapes — thrown by hand
                    pots — bottles — what they contained
embossed on — no transparency
being part of the temporary secret —
defied the label too
                    humanity respond still
                    to rounds and curves
                    close copies of nature
ceramic teapot and steam spout
cork tops on pots
where smells of preserves seeped out
gone now except for the monochrome memories