Pieces
Puzzle pieces everywhere.
I could have left him alone.
Except I like to work on the puzzle together.
We would sit on the rug in the living room.
Turning the floor into a picture.
A picture which is being built, but not with brick or cement.
Fitting just right.
The end of the puzzle is in sight.
Is a puzzle like a game?
Which we must tame?
Everyone cheered for the last piece, the last piece.
But my hand trembles more than ever.
Puzzle pieces in a square.
Everything is part of a part.
A hand or an eye.
There’s a person coming into focus.
In my own living room he becomes clear.
500 pieces later.
I feel bad.
Puzzle pieces in a box.
Set in a drawer with my socks.
Puzzle pieces scattered.
It took two days to finish, not that it mattered.
I should have put it in a frame.
Making it again would never be the same.
Without you to work on it together.
I guess I’ll just learn to knit a sweater.
Because that puzzle will never be made again.
I know that within.
Puzzle pieces everywhere.
I see you everywhere.
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