BookLife Poem: For the Love of a Puzzle

sometimes you need a break between books, or encounter a thunderstorm in need of an activity

Photo by Ross Sneddon on Unsplash

For the Love of A Puzzle

I muddle and I poke at the pieces

struggling to locate the creases

the heads and the legs,

the divots and pegs rise

up off of shoulders, amoebic creatures

turning sideways, staring back,

color interrupted, geometry recurring 

and blurring across indecipherable parts

turned around, on sides, flipped one-eighty, 

tidbits homeless, unhitched until locations are 

switched, then they slip and they slide into place.

The puddle of pieces evaporates; 

I accelerate my pace as the faces

and edges of shapes settle into place.

I ease back to upright, long-slumped, back achey. 

The last random few snap where I never knew 

they would land and I brush my hand 

feeling ridges and edges now connected correctly, 

artful meaning arising from the muddle.

The satisfying finish draw me back

yet again to puzzle. 

—Carol O’Day