Jigsaw Words

Moving my existence from one place to another,

there is always an unsettled aspect of my being left behind,

Like…

A part of me

ensconced in a dark corner

of my favorite eatery,

where friends continue to laugh and converse

long after I’ve unpredictably moved on,

Or…

My habitual nightcap in the bar under my apartment

often turning into a drink fest,

where wine is consumed like water,

awaiting the peeking of the sunrise

around skyscrapers to arouse me from the barstool

stroll to the door

look back

and realize

another failed effort of me is being left behind.

Yet…

Like a jigsaw puzzle,

the scattered pieces are there for the gathering,

discovering how the verbal descriptions all fit

in the mind of an urban dweller

who may possess a stubborn insistence on

never forgetting an experience in the city that spawns more questions

than answers.

As writers, many of us find the pieces

as experiential gems of sudden departures

nudging our minds to carve

some lexiconic order,

lest we succumb to a morass of

unresolved happenings.

We worry about being only a part of the show,

Risking the slipping away of

reality and self-control,

becoming a struggling picture of self

missing vital pieces of understanding,

imagination,

and a satisfying closure.