poetree

I'm

alee_grrl and I will be you host this week. At times it seems I have loved poetry my whole life. Even before I learned to read, I loved to listen to poetry. About the time I was ten I started to play with writing my own. Though I wouldn't share those early attempts with anyone, even if I still had the battered journal they had been written in. In my mid-teens I took a summer creative writing course with a cousin and began to polish my writing style a bit more. I also took classes in high school and college. My college poetry professor was harshly critical and very hard to deal with, but my poetry did improve under her tutelage. My poetic productivity has waned over the years as other concerns and interests have eaten into my time, but I still enjoy writing poetry when I can. I use poetry to capture snapshots of life, to work through difficult issues, and to have fun with words.

For today I thought I would share the poem that I take my journal title from. Written nine or so years ago, this is a poem I used to process a lot of mental and emotional issues at a turbulent time in my life. In many ways this poem has become my anthem, my freedom song. So without further ado, I present:

The Freedom Song of the Jigsaw Girl

I am the Jigsaw girl,
shattered and scattered
across the prison of my mentality.

Pieces of me glitter and glare
in the light leaking from the cracks.

The first thing I find is my feet.
Silly skips snap into place with
sneaky slinks to form my toes.
The jaunty jumps of a tomboy bounce
together with the sensuous saunter
of a young woman forming the arch.
The heel and ankle are formed by angry stomps,
frightened fleeing, and delighted dances.

The next thing I find is my hands.
Balled bitter fists mesh with gentle fingers
that form magical creations with crayons
and later charcoal. Crescent scarred palms
lock with excited fluttering digits, and my hands are formed.

Legs, arms, head, and torso fall into place. But
some bits cower in the safest shadowy hiding spots.
New found feet dart through my old prison,
freshly created hands coax and entice. Slowly
the rest of the pieces are placed.

Excited streams of words bubble
from my rosebud mouth. Songs, screams, shouts,
wonders, and whispers wander out as a voice finds
freedom; another puzzle piece snapped into the whole.

Finally patchwork hands hold the final piece. Tattered
heart is smoothed into the remaining gap.
My old mentality disintegrates.
I salsa with the sunbeams; savor my sovereignty.

I am the jigsaw girl,
pieced and patched together.
Stronger than I was before,
I dance across my universe.