afterward had required time.
Asking.
Listening.
Risking an answer I could not control.
I dried the second fork and put it beside the first.
The following weekend, my bowl sat on the studio counter between us.
The glaze had settled a deep blue in the bottom and a lighter gray around the uneven rim. One side still rose higher than the other. It was undeniably crooked, and the firing had done nothing to conceal my limited understanding of circles.
Sabrina lifted it carefully.
“Look at that.”
“A cautionary object.”
“A
