Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Unwanted Puzzle Piece

26 February 2008, 8:23 AM

I walk by the table, find an edge piece
or something with a bit of blue in the corner,
snap it into place, make the picture more complete.

Yet I have an intuition
there will always be something not quite right,
something askew, or perhaps just missing.
I’ll always feel as if I’ve left my keys
on the coffee table, or set the oven to 350
and walked away, or that there’s something
so very fundamental that I’m forgetting
at the grocery store, like the butter I didn’t write down.

There will be a piece, somewhere so very intriguing,
most likely in the third of the picture to which the eye
is most attracted—composition isn’t everything,
but it’s too much to ignore. I will not call it want—
the piece is gone, I would not have it back. Yet while
others may not readily discern the lack, I have
an artist’s eye; will always perceive the negative space.

Inspired by The Weekend Wordsmith

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

A very descriptive poem, Maria...nice job. I can really relate to that part about forgetting something at the grocery store. :D

George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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