And the winner is ...

And the winner is …

 

Imagine all the jigsaw puzzles

not yet in their boxes

all those pieces

loose upon

littering

the floor

 

Imagine time’s fingers busy

ceaselessly filling

box after box

innocently

randomly

spore

after

spore

 

Imagine that most times

the pieces in a box do

not fit together

to create

a picture

a window

or a door

an after

a before

 

Imagine two people in the dark

night after night   year after

year century after century

searching or not to find

a box   any old box 

unlucky     lucky

the accidental

incidental

puzzle

of

you

 

WARNING: The finished puzzle may vary from the picture on the box lid.  Contains fragile pieces which may easily be damaged if forced to fit in. No responsibility can be accepted for poor assemblage.  Once the box is opened, the goods cannot be returned unless there are exceptionable circumstances. Under no circumstances can the goods be exchanged. 

other lives

other lives

other people have lives that come at them

like a knife attack in the dark

other people have lives that chase them 

across continents   where

there is the stark truth of no escape

still others live with the ghosts of the dead

being kicked around in their heads

there are other people who have a life

that is like gripping the blade of the knife

clinging to the undercarriage of the world

unfurled

 

and there are others who on a Saturday evening

standing before the mirror having checked their hair

pat their pockets   money   keys   cigarettes   knife

 

imagine the view

snapshot

snapshot

 

he feels convinced that if he just keeps watching

he will see her turn away from the party

from the unseen person who is making her laugh

see her leave the kitchen and make her way

up the dark narrow staircase

there would be a creak near the top

she would tiptoe along the landing

to his bedroom door   left ajar

streetlight washed against the curtains

to watch him sleeping

 

and though he is awake

he doesn’t open his eyes

he doesn’t know why   so

somehow she’s still watching and

she’s still in the kitchen still laughing

at that joke of someone unseen   happy

the light still streaming through the aperture

into the now unshuttered eye   transforming

the chemical memory of time’s camera   

he still listens for the sound

that creak of a stair

a footstep coming up, a footstep going down

she’ll be there always now