Paper Pieces

As I walk, I drop

From my right hand

So many paper pieces of a picture in shreds

An ellipsis of small white sugary dots

I trust that someone

Who happens to see

Will happen to be so thus intrigued

As to trail behind, bent like a willow over the water

Scraping fingertips upon the pavement

In his efforts to collect these little litterbugs

Cupped in the crease

Of a hand, between calluses

They mount in a mound

Of careful packed snowballs

Concealing in each a concrete pebble core

Of letters in a ransom note treasure map: 

I write poems

And I step out of bed on tiptoe

I have a freckle on my hip

And I try to be free with my smile

I like feeling small

I am scared of my closet

On a given warm night

I sit hours on the stairs

And more, and more

My hand is quite full

I trust that someone

Will take time, take care

To unfold each piece for each piece’s sake

All we all want is for some other soul

To form constellations from our stars

Time will tell, but just as well

You look as though you have curious fingers