Dispatches from 2020

1000 Pieces

A woman dressed in a hooded white tunic
leans over the balcony
of her medieval castle.
She looks straight at me.
It’s August. I’ve been alone
inside this house since March.
Before Covid I’d never think of wasting time
doing a jigsaw puzzle.
Better to make something useful–
a pair of mittens, a pot of soup.
Now, week after week, I spend hours
sitting at this table sorting through
cut-out pieces of cardboard
looking for a fit. The midnight sky
is slowly taking shape behind her.
The moon appears.
Days before my friend Susan died
a small group of us gathered in her living room
for our yearly Christmas tea.
Thin, one eye half closed, Susan sat
between Brooke and me on the long sofa,
propped by a pillow,
her favorite chartreuse sweater
over her white nightgown.
On the low glass table in front of us,
a vase of lilies, a small Calyx were ware plate
with her scone, untouched.
“This is so bizarre,” she whispered,
“Yes,” I said, knowing what she meant.
Now we all agreed it’s good
Susan didn’t have to live through this.
So much death.
The world is tired, sick.
I wish I could Call her on the phone.

The walls of the castle are made of stars.
Mostly greens, yellows, amber,
red– like Susan’s hair when she was young.
Alike, but not identical, these stars
are what make this puzzle difficult.
Susan loved her home on the river, her gardens.
She also loved oatmeal. I swear
that woman ate McCann’s Irish Oatmeal
with blueberries, whole milk and maple syrup
every day of her life. One morning
toward the end, when a thin version of it
was all she could keep down,
She said, “Thank God for oatmeal!”
And I said, “T.G.F.O.”
And we laughed and agreed
it should be inscribed on her tombstone.
I wonder when we’ll bury her ashes
next to Bob’s in the small cemetery
with Judith, Sarah, Ethan, Greg, others,
where my ashes, too, will go when it’s time.
At first winter interfered–the ground, snow-covered, frozen.
Now this pandemic keeps us from gathering.
The closer I come to finishing–a few stars needed
to fill in the upper right corner–the faster I go,
surprised and a little perplexed by sadness
at the thought of placing the last piece,
only to break it all apart.
How silly to be attached to a jigsaw puzzle,
but these are strange times.