The jigsaw puzzle is not complete
there are missing pieces that did not
come in the box in which a life is contained
Missing pieces that include an expanse of ocean,
a ship that brought her to port, the country from
which she departed, the child left behind
like a treasure chest to be recovered later when
no one is looking, the other child never quite able to
grasp it all, never able to understand why there is a
missing uncle, aunts never to be spoken to, cousins
who are ghosts of memories, stories spun from dreams
or netted like fish from vivid imaginations,
stories to deceive like an eclipse of the sun – a dark side
not to be looked at directly – a father divorced, the divorce
never mentioned, the first wife looking very much like the
second – were there two?  More pieces are missing,
the edge of the puzzle not smooth or straight like a
fairytale, the edges rough like life, not sharp
like a tongue. How did she get here? By ship for sure,
which ship – freighter rusting like a waiting husband,
the Queen Mary (or so she said), crammed with refugees
seeking hope, wealth, freedom, family in the New Paradise
while on the decks above the rich sat idly as they do and
spoke of matters the poor would not understand – or maybe
it was another ship from another world filled with languages
peeled from palm trees or evergreens or yakking as diverse as
birds overhead or in trees at dusk, the ocean a deep
blue-green, white foam off the stern a trail away from the past,
away from life as it was, the bow splitting water like thoughts pointing
to hope while years later after her death holes in the puzzle remain
unfilled like a hungry stomach, a dog sniffing a dumpster