By: Arinda duPont
She wasn’t exactly beautiful. She had been called intriguing,
but most days she looked more practical than exotic.
Her utilitarian look was an acquired taste.
If you could get past the blotchy skin and naturally red complexion,
there was something appealing about her general features:
A broad forehead, large eyebrows,
long lashes, big eyes, a broad nose, very round cheeks,
an average mouth with plump lips, and a small chin.
There was a sort of perfection in the way her hair lay in an untamed mane.
It was not the sort of beauty you could find in magazines.
It was not delicate or merely pretty.
She looked like she could run miles, keep secrets and build bridges.
The puzzling piece
This isn’t my puzzle. This isn’t my box.
I thought that it was, but maybe it’s not.
What if I am not a part of the picture,
or I belong to a bigger picture of something else?
What if when it all comes together
I don’t fit in anywhere and I am all alone?
where will I go?
I suppose I will just have to find all the scattered pieces
hidden in couches, and junk drawers,
and the small crooks and crannies of the house,
gather them all up and make a puzzle unlike anyone has ever seen.
It may not look pretty if you stare too hard at the chewed-up pieces,
and the broken and discolored ones,
but being part of a puzzle is really just about being a part of something bigger.