Jigsaw Puzzle Poetry

[The words below were published accidentally; I intended to “save draft” for later use but they got published, instead. The shards of ideas here are just that—fragments. Much of this will never find its way into a finished poem. That’s good, because good poems don’t deserve such broken pieces of idea.]

He wanted to think of it as a huge jigaw puzzle, all pieces separated and
spilled on the wooden floor, a mess that time and commitment can repair.

But she saw it more as a keepsake crystal vase, purposely dashed on a
hard tile floor, broken into a million shards of irreplaceable antique glass.

The damage was unintentional. It was simply an outgrowth of an attachment to someone else, an attachment that didn’t include her. She, the starry-eyed puppy in love with an idea she thought lived in a person, simply stumbled onto the rocks from his row boat in an ocean of love and hate and indifference.

When that pitcher erupted into a spray of sharp fragments, slicing into her senses like a razor, she sensed the impermanence of love and the permanence of emptiness, the knowledge that a relic of a life taken away is like death, gone forever.

 

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Please tell me how this post strikes you.