When you have put together the pieces,
You will feel so proud for the picture,
Will not have those missing spaces, that
Tell us the journey is still very long.
My father's hand picks a piece, and lays
It on the blue light. I see the light.
The star is brighter and my mom also
Picks a piece and I see the ears of the
Angel, and they shine.
These hands also pick the color red, and I
See the dress is not my type of dress, but
One I could wear to a prom one day, and then
I look at the shoes black, like the center
Of my eye, and I see this puzzle is going
To take us long to complete, but the warmth
Of our being is what keeps us playing the
Game called life.
Now that I see our house I can tell that the
Missing piece is the one my brother will come
And put in, and little sister has a share in
This game, called making our place here on the
Table, where the incomplete puzzle lays. You
Pull the table cloth and all goes into disarray,
For this is also our house already starting to
Fall on the floor piece by piece. The gathering
Of these, will still be the work we came to do.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sarah, this is a very beautiful poem. The idea of a puzzle being brought to life and representing a journey has so many wonderful messages. It hit me- the idea of a journey demands no travel. It is, at the same time, not something that needs to exist strictly within the imagination. Putting a puzzle together does not demand relocation, and being and growing with family is itself a journey. This is one of my favourites. So well done, Sarah.