These Mixed-Up Pieces, Part II
The flames don’t last forever,
I tell myself, stitch the sinews and put each piece of china back in place.
I am a mosaic of mixed up pieces,
Of scars and lines and my life,
Tattooed to my heart like the sun across the sky, my story smoothed by time and a thousand eyes reading, reading.
I am a painting, built from layers, scrubbed over and made clean to be built again.
I am a survivor.
The dusk of the days are longer.
The sun sets at seven instead of eight again.
I take myself to Alphabet City on Tuesdays and watch the garden on East 9th Street grow.
Every day, I walk my life toward change.
I watch the trees outside move in the breeze.
Their new blossoms flow lazy and smooth.
This month moves faster than I ever thought it could,
And for the first time I do not look into the mouth of that lion called change,
As May ushers itself in.
Life is long and short,
And springtime is here in all it’s glory before I’ve really bid winter goodbye.
I watch the very first blooms of bleeding hearts in the backyard sway in the wind.
They are me, beautiful in our imperfection.
How is it possible to be so old and young at once.
In life I am such a slow learner.
On this April Friday, it is enough.