Jigsaw Piece



/ poetry

One of those things that catch your eye, stay with you and you have to write about.

Jigsaw Piece


face down on the pavement,

lost, discarded,

torn from a picture,

now incomplete;

uneven edges protrude

like awkward limbs

after an accident, hurt,

bound in its cardboard splint.


Somewhere it has a home,

a place to slot into,

others cossetting up close,

companions to tell a story with.

Here it is displaced,

the content

facing cold concrete,

promises unfulfilled.


I pick it up, trace

its sharp edges,

the glossy face a reminder

of a scene it once

belonged to.

I cannot leave it here

to weather the elements.

I cosy it in my pocket.

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