A Family Past-time

I hold in hand
a piece of a puzzle, one-thousandth part of a picture,
On the piece are pictures of books.

There are seven workers, pressing together,
Heat radiates around the table
As we work in tandem.

I reach over
to put the piece in place, around many hands,
my sisters' excited hands, my mother's careful hands, my grandpa's old hands.

I think, "Shaping my life
Are as many hands, and
There are many books,

But I wonder,
if
I saw my life
would it be as pretty a picture?"

The piece fits perfectly.
And my family praises me,
Their hands stopping for a moment as they smile.

A Night of Tears

If you found me now

Knees drawn up, on the floor

You would see

Teartracks

Salty, dry, riverbeds

Of sorrow.

But you couldn’t see them,

Because I’m in the dark.

Sometimes I wonder

Why

God doesn’t send someone

To turn on the light,

Maybe sit beside me

Then I remember

He is here.