Fragments come as the glock that is our life fires astray into the crowd.
Some disregard it all because they are too proud.
The impact is too much for them.
And the rose that blossoms like our understanding gets cut to the stem.
Shards get lost and parts of the story is left to fantasy.
Oh, but just let me see.
Let me know our story from start to finish please.
This is my story too.
And I choose not to stare at the end of the glock just for you.
Your words are loaded.
Every detail is coded.
I can’t tell if it really happened or if it is all make believe.
From everyone around, these pieces I do receive.
I’m making a collage to hold these parts,
But they are jabbing all nearby like poisonous darts.
The truth to their past lies there alone.
Someone will come and make it into a quilt united hand-sown.
And then I will look to each square to read its hidden truths.
I’ll read it miles on from here to Duluth.
I will understand our past,
And I will hold these shards in my hands at last.
No longer will they pierce those around.
No one will ever feel unsound.