The Art of Arranging Heart Pieces

The raw edge of a moment can slice through our thickest skin

Right to the core that cups the storehouse of love’s grit and grin

And it can scatter tatters like a swatch of phantom fray

That nothing holds together but the tether of today

Where, with the medium of verse the poet tries to snare

The colors of an afternoon soft-fading on thin air

Like ephemeral fabric of time’s cambric, silk and tulle

Shirred into words like stay-for-supper, yes, and wonderful

For nothing takes the place of faces sporting happiness

They fill up hollow spaces with invisible finesse

Yet, tug with tender beckoning for someone to arrange

These estranged bits and pieces into Art that will not change

And thus the poet tiptoes over Bygone’s hallowed seal

To try to fit together pieces that Time cannot steal

(…a dash of Sonny’s freckles and sash off Missy’s frock

A splash of Johnny’s innocence, a baby’s silken lock

A little shoe, a peek-a-boo, a can-I-use-the-car

The tendril of sleep-tight and twinkle, twinkle, little star

A bright mosaic made of scattered toys, a tear to kiss 

The endless to-do list on hold for joys too dear to miss

A book to read the umpteenth time, supper served in three shifts

And oh the beaming face behind a birthday cake and gifts

A line laden with living proof of busy family

Making a home from walls and roof, that else mere house would be

 And lest dear mother might forget the beauty midst the mess

As love and care add hints of wear to her once-raven tress

With slam of door and messy floor and smudge of window-art

A Poem finds a way to turn them into works of heart)

© Janet Martin