Where in the world does it fit
This piece, found beneath the couch
In a stubble of dust?
Its blue is dark; its shape, square with two knobby
Appendages. It’s true
We had children over this morning. They romped
And, smiling, showed small teeth, left berries
Rolling on the floor and, in the end, their big, sloppy
Silvery tears splashed everywhere.
Children get it, you know. Crying
As we’d all like to do, wanting as we want
Every puzzle finished, orderly closets
And butterflies back and the weather (dear god!)
To settle down. Piece
By piece, it seems to fall into place,
The days going by, the years, until we wake to find
Not hiding beneath the centerpiece (those dowager
Roses!) or slipped beneath a chair.
The child stares furiously at her jigsaw sky
Where what’s lost, perhaps forever,
Leaves behind a square, knobby view
Of scourged veneer,
Chipped and cracked, ghosted with a ring
From some long-ago reveler’s
Goblet of wine.