Morning, in Mind Games
where muzak fills the air.
Two shelves up, a box
neatly wrapped in plastic
the glossy photo of a woman
etched with delicate lines
an almost seamless whole
the pieces cut to tight tolerances
the image,
rectangular – complete.
Afternoon, with gentle snow,
the dog’s curled up by the fire.
I sit at the table stacking pieces
by color
by shape
by color
by shape.
But the pieces fit badly,
leave holes
the cover doesn’t show.
I fight through the day,
endless circling, searching
for a starting point
to undo the fracturing,
to rebuild her.
Evening, half-dark, moonlit snow
dying embers shimmer gracefully
the woman sits, half assembled
less a challenge than a meditation.
Plastic crackles in the trash
trying to regain it’s former shape
the cardboard sits, neatly cut
waits for tomorrow by the hearth
its usefulness found at last
…tinder for the flames.