Pastime

As a child I made things 
out of clay—a pig who

could not be eaten, a mule  
who refused to carry

anything other than a pig 
who could not be eaten.

They were companion 
pieces. They kept each

other company, and me. 
We kept each other’s

secrets: what flesh can 
do with clay, what clay

can do that flesh can’t. 
I was a small child who made

small decisions. I made big  
people angry. I made them

confused. I 
refuse, I refuse.

Credit

Copyright © 2025 by Andrea Cohen. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on August 4, 2025, by the Academy of American Poets.

About this Poem

“I don’t recall exactly what sparked this poem. But that pig? No doubt he’s a nod to Phil Levine’s pig in ‘Animals Are Passing from Our Lives.’ Phil meant much to me as a teacher, as do his poems—and all those animals in and beyond our lives.” 
Andrea Cohen