I search again
through the just-opened mound
a 1000-piece puzzle
a promise of calm, time without limit
in this unprecedented era
quarantine
isolation
time so brutally limitless
borders closed
patrolled
a new perimeter drawn
no longer free to wander beyond the front door
interiors defined, as always,
by the edge.
No matter how slow or diligent
no matter if square, rectangular
oval, shaped like a seahorse
I have yet to complete an entire outline
the first time I go through
this one a perfect circle
and still
four pieces were missing.
On the second pass
I invite myself to slow down
enjoy the metaphors
- looking for lost pieces
- finding a new form
- giving shape to shapelessness
- creating beauty from that which is broken
remind myself to breathe fully
there’s time
no need to rush
I could follow one breath
all the way in
all the way out
a practice I’ve yet to complete
the first thousand times
I’ve tried.
In lands known for mosaics
- pavements and walkways
- walls and counters
- hearths and terraces
- fountains and tables
beauty is made from individual azulejos
tiles chosen to rest side by side
never touching
lines of contrasting cement or grout
separate each tessera
these ever-present edges
mysteriously creating a whole.
Looking out from my terrace
a stone sea
of brightly colored squares
each house defined by the contrasting hue
of the one next to it
or the pale stone curves of callejones
or the brownish dry hills of
gently rounded cerros
their cazahuate trees not yet blooming
huizache with leaf canopies shaped like Spanish fans
golden-barren
sleeping giants cradling their arms
around a prized collection
colorful treasures
in the valley bowl below.
Every town is now mosaicked
each of us has come to rest
the lines around us have thickened
holding us not-quite-touching
but forever together
individually we make up almost nothing
yet each essential
in our small puzzle-piece way
a newly formed beauty
emerging from the shattered whole.
And yet…
our new landscape has many missing pieces
- friends and grandparents
- children and nurses
- scientists and laborers
- neighbors and those we’ve never met
no matter how many times we sort through
each day we lose more
slipping off tables
right off the surface of the earth.
We who remain
retain the shape
of incomplete edges
reworked interiors.
The sleeping giants
will wake tomorrow
to fewer shiny treasures
arms that cannot hold us
eyes that will not find
no matter how patient or diligently they search
the pieces that have slipped off the table.