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.