Reading this aloud, I thought it dragged
toward the end, so I cut some of the
repetition in the last verse. Don't mind, skim over
&tell me what you think. Thanks! Pea xoXOxo

                         C oll age at a T i m e
                         {Collage at a Time}

You know how it is.
A sudden bump, and life spills
all over. You stumble, you start
to spin. Upside-down can’t see.
But still shots dimly light the haze
as spinning slows. One thing:
Hope you like jigsaw puzzles.

Doing your best to chill, you begin
working the thing. But. . .help?!
An important piece is gone.
Others refuse to surface. You
sit on shaky ground staring at an eye
here, an elbow there. Smile,
arched brow, pale frown. . .bandage?
Unrecognizable bits are now spread
all over. You crawl on your knees,
hunting for matches. Find one,
the rest don’t fit. Angle’s are all wrong.
Size, shape, hue. Wrong, wrong. . .
wait! This one could be part
of the border. Edge looks straight, you think.
Then, under a cushion in that embarrassing fluff
grabbed a bent and gnawed toothpick,
a penny, nacho chips and Debbie-cake crumbs,
a piece you have looked for forever
has to be key. All your life,
you have hunted. All your life,
in the hope of a whole picture. Yet. . .

. . .there is something beautiful
about pieces that refuse to wedge together.
Having to give control to the designer
and maker. Who maybe caused the upset?
To tell you life’s puzzles are meant to be
worked with help? Or. . .choke, sigh
.
Insight leaves as it comes, in a flash.
All you can think is, there is no picture
to go by. More than one puzzle!
Hundreds or thousands for each of us.
Family takes a whole factory’s worth.
Objects you think you knew
inside and out have scattered to collages
no jigsaw could have cut. The leaning tree
outside the window. Dog, cat, web.
Constant, never-ending War. Hurt
we humans. . .why are we so blind
to the way we all fit? Need
our own puzzles, but one for all.

Like me, you have counted on seeing
and feeling where the edges might be.
Flesh going with flesh. Solid frame.
Pieces break, sure. Get mauled, get lost.
But we have memory to paint them in.
Best puzzles hard, we are up for that.
But give us some breaks, okay?

. . .but yes. There is something beautif--. . .
let me see that piece in your hand. I thought so!
If we keep it up long enough, you’ll see.
Be shouting Eureka. . .someday. . .

 

(c) Phyllis Jean Green, 2004