I Am a Puzzle

I am a puzzle made of pieces. One for the girl who woke my heart, one for the girl who broke it, one for the man who shook it, one for the man who took it (when it wasn’t his to take), one for the man who put it together again and made it beat. There’s a piece for the Hindu Kush, and Logar and Wardak Kandahar and Uruzgan and one for the thunderstorms in Gardez. One for every friend whom I’ve outlived which is to say so, so, so many. There’s even a piece made of pieces, links in the chain of friends that led me from one to another, all the crazy people I used to love. There’s a piece for the friend who hasn’t left my side; a piece for my Wonder Twin, one for each brother; a piece for every mother who loved me and every father who left me and every teacher who built me. I have pieces for people and places, ideas and things. A piece for the nights in drunken paradise, a piece for eyelash icicles in the north country cold, a piece for the Adirondacks and Boldt Castle for the summer we played before the playhouse came crashing down, a piece for all the top secret hours in vaults. I have a piece for Alabama, for Arizona, for Snowflake and Avalanche, for inside jokes and viral videos. You can borrow my top and we’ll get some shoes. I have pieces for the Greater Caucasus, for my Bakuvian balcony where I’d watch the sun rise over the Caspian Sea. I have pieces for Kyiv and for Stockholm, one for the Great Wall, and so many pieces for Japan. Pieces for Joshua Tree, Big Basin, Dogwood, Crestline, pieces for all those cross country road trips east to west or west to east, there and back again. There are so many cat shaped pieces, Stubentigers who have loved me, for every cup of coffee that touched my soul, pieces for every trail run, every weight lifted, every crushed thing – both goals, and hearts. So you see I am puzzling. If I know who I am, I have shown you. If you have a piece for the villain I was in your story, just know that I’m not misunderstood. I simply did not understand myself back then.