Finding Herself in Pieces

Even her feet are puzzled this time,
though they don’t have the mechanics
for showing it, like her discombobulated
smile, or her fragile flummoxed heartbeat.
She’s a put-all-the-edges-together-first kind
of girl, then fill in the center, color by color, piece
by piece. He’s a grab-the-piece-in-front-of-you-and-
see-where-it-goes kind of a guy, a no-footsie-under-the
table kind of guy, a puzzle fuzz covered fingers kind of guy,
and she’s hopelessly, helplessly hooked. So she curls her bewild
-ered toes, hides her bamboozled smile, and dumps the whole thing
on the floor in front of her. Grabs the first piece she sees, tiny, bumpy,
strange. Holds it up to the light, thinks it looks just right, hopes it fits.