jigsawing

in the photo album i was 
the scissor-insect & the thumb press.
looking for a gerry-mander 
in our faces i cut alley ways
& ice rinks & inlets. where does
the puzzle begin & who does it
begin for? if we are going to remember
we need as much tangible as possible.
pins in the pizza box & maybe 
someone to cut out the eyes.
a piece of clear plastic is all
that separates me from eternity.
a scrap book vs. a scrape book.
there's a nice one of my brothers & i.
none of us are smiling. one of us
is holding a cicada shell. i'm not sure
who is who. i could be nothing
but the cord. trying to find
the dead christmas light. my shoulders
are the missing part. i sometimes
regret the separations. bone 
from skin from teeth. we couldn't
have arrive in one piece. that is how
rich people build homes not how
we live. box of mac & cheese full of snails.
a terrarium for vodka. nothing is 
as easy as it sounds. or there's 
more staring than neccesary. 
i never set out 
to be useful until i would told
i should be working on reassembling.
here is where there used to be 
a sunflower. here is what 
the sunflower lies & tells
other people. we all have a secret.
that jigsaw hole waiting for the piece.
you could of course make another one
but you would walk around with that space
knowing it was not true. waiting 
by the front door, to encounter
the familiar corner of face.
do you still even know
what it looked it?