Dozens of puzzle pieces suspended in the air.
All day, I’ve wondered why no one else
seems to see them—dangling as they are
on the hiking trail and in the kitchen this morning,
over the highway and at the birthday party.
All day, they appear with their knobs and inlets,
their gray backs and colorful fronts,
spinning like small bits of certainty.
Sometimes I feel one fit into place
in some larger puzzle I don’t actually see,
but when a piece slips in, I feel it
with my whole body—a snap, a link,
a small yes. I don’t know whose hand
is doing the work. I don’t know where
the pieces came from nor where they should go.
All day I wait for it, the feeling of being lifted
out of my life and placed back in
exactly where I belong.
Imagine the size, indeed. As an artist, I’ve often thought we are all standing nose close to an immense canvas, each of us painting a tiny square of it, and clueless of the whole. But if we could just stand back far enough, we’d sigh at the beauty, and say “yes, now I get it!”
Your puzzle metaphor is perfect!
it’s exactly that … our noses so close to the canvas! and for now, no edge in sight …
agreed!
thank you, Carol