Friday, February 10, 2012

A Puzzle That Won't Be Fixed

This afternoon, I saw my life crash down around me
In the middle of the fabric section at Walmart.
Funny place to leave sharp shards of a life.
As I leaned down to pick them up,
Toss them into my bag,
I noticed the faces of my college friends in one,
My high school clique in another.
The generic face of someone I've never met,
Topped by strawberry blonde hair.
A glimmer of a bad date,
And another of a good date gone bad.
A mother who can (but won't) support her daughter.
A sliver of school drew blood from my fingertips
And tears from my eyes.
I had worked so hard to pick all those pieces up,
And put them back in the shape of my life,
But they kept slipping though my fingertips,
Slicing the flesh,
Before I could get them over my purse.
I finally realized I wouldn't get them all,
So I left some of the most unimportant pieces behind.
Now I'm sitting here at this desk,
Examining them.
Which ones fit where?
I can't seem to find the school piece,
But I'm sure I grabbed it.
And without that piece,
The piece with my friends evaporates.
The sharpest shard,
The one with my mother's face on it
Leaves no room for the school piece.
Some glass,
Like the large one with the generic face,
Seem to overlap much of the other pieces.
And then I saw the shape of my life:
A compass.
My compass is broken.
I've lost my direction.
I don't know how I've managed to get home;
Or is this my home?
It certainly feels more like a prison,
The screens on the windows acting as bars.
The piece that had been missing since before the break in the store
Now stares up at me,
Laughing as I grasp frantically at the pieces,
Cutting myself even more,
Just looking for that school.
He should be happy about that.
And then I see the needle.
The bent metal that reflects the familiar blonde hair and brown eyes.
The best friend long gone.
She smiles,
Nodding towards the piece that overlaps,
Then looking up toward the heavens,
And I get it...
I think.