Puzzle Pieces

[RSaba]

I'm looking for feedback on this - first poem I have written in several months, feeling a bit rusty. Fire away!

Puzzle Pieces (v. 2)


I’ve been sitting here for hours now,

right foot falling asleep under my left thigh,
toes twitching with a need to stand up
that I can’t seem to answer.
My bones quiver, my collarbone shifts,
my ribs creak and my spine straightens,
keeping my head upright
as it turns toward the window
and sighs heavily,
as if it’s been here one too many times.
The curtain whispers in my ear,
the single-paned window rattles softly
against my knuckles, and my fingers move
like the legs of a spider
as he drops down from the ceiling.
I describe my body slowly,
from head to toe,
as if doing this will make it real,
as if taking control of my image could somehow
give me control of my life, of my movement,
and of my thoughts.
I describe my body from outside,
from above, as if I were a puzzle
to be solved, to be broken and made whole
again and again, until pieces begin to disappear
behind the furniture, and frustration appears in the spaces
left by those small fractions of me that meant nothing much
until they were gone.
You weren’t just one of those pieces.
You were the straight edge, the corners,
the definition and the safety
that kept the wayward parts of this puzzle
from escaping into the dust and dirt.
You were the last piece, the satisfaction,
the beginning and the end, the metaphor
for sanity that made all too much sense to me
as this description of my body fades into the darkness
of my mind and those puzzle pieces are lost in the cracks
while you are lost to me in the real world
and I am coming apart, piece by piece,
swallowed by the furniture and the grass,
the concrete and the rushing water
and the wind that pulled my hair from my face
as I kissed you good-bye
as if to say,
“Make this perfect,
just in case.”
 




Puzzle Pieces (original)

I’ve been sitting here for hours now,

right foot falling asleep under the weight of my left thigh,

toes twitching with a need to stand up

that I can’t seem to answer.

My bones quiver, my collarbone shifts,

my ribs creak and my spine lifts itself

away from the muscle that binds me to the floor,

winding its way up my back and keeping my head upright

as it turns toward the window once more

and sighs, not audibly,

but still heavily, as if it’s done this

one too many times.

The curtain whispers in my ear,

the single-paned window rattles softly

against my knuckles, and my fingers move

like the legs of a spider as he drops from the ceiling

and makes his way down to the floor.

I describe my body slowly, from head to toe

and back again,

as if doing this will make it real,

as if taking control of my image could somehow

give me control of my life, of my movement,

and of my thoughts.

I describe my body as if from outside,

as if from above, as if I were a puzzle

to be solved, to be broken and made whole

again and again, until pieces begin to disappear

behind the furniture, and frustration appears in the spaces

left by those small fractions of me that meant nothing much

until they were gone.

You weren’t just one of those pieces.

You were the straight edge, the corners,

the definition and the safety

that finished this puzzle and kept those wayward parts

from escaping into the dust and dirt.

You were the last piece, the satisfaction,

the beginning and the end, the metaphor

for sanity that made all too much sense to me

as this description of my body fades into the darkness

of my mind and those puzzle pieces are lost to me in the cracks

while you are lost to me in the real world

and I am coming apart, piece by piece,

swallowed by the furniture and the grass,

the concrete and the rushing water

and the wind that pulled my hair from my face

as I kissed you good-bye

as if to say,

“Make this perfect,

just in case.”