Piecing It Together

A poem by my 18-year-old daughter, Flo.

Flo Wen

The sky was green, the grass was blue, and chaos we were feeling;

Between us: wreckage, hostile thoughts, and things he was concealing.

I knew enough to topsy-turve the love we’d been maintaining

For disbelief replaced whatever passion was remaining.

For he and I had always said, it’s you and me forever

In those five words, there wasn’t room for his or my whoever.

But pacts are pacts, by nature meant to be a bit mistreated

They say that love’s a game and if it’s true, his pawn had cheated.

I called her all the names I could; indeed my friends came running

For ladies who have morals jump at any chance of shunning.

Yet shunned or not, this lady stayed the object of affection –

He was mine, and she was his: it’s just love’s imperfection.

But imperfection paves the way, like puzzle pieces fitting:

The process of elimination used before committing.

And though I didn’t know it then, we didn’t fit together;

For he remained a corner piece, and I was in the center.

But I, like every puzzle piece, upheld my only function:

To find that central piece near mine, and strengthen the conjunction.

For God knows every pair of lovers needs a good supporting;

In fact, it’s just the nature of the troubled act of courting.