Posted in Poetry

Shipwrecked Eggs & Jigsaw Puzzles

What color is it when poetry
is lost, leaving only prose
and Prozac and a longing
for nights cold enough to throw
an old familiar blanket
into the dryer just to smell
its heat evaporate
into memories of shipwrecked
eggs and jigsaw puzzles
with the pieces that make up
the eyes missing from the box?

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

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A wild soul writing poetry.

46 thoughts on “Shipwrecked Eggs & Jigsaw Puzzles

  1. OK, wow. That just pulls us in and through and out the other side of the question. First line is a killer, then just presses on. Prose and Prozac! The blanket and the memory and its all a puzzle, right?

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I so love this, and I sure don’t have any answers, but it’s beautiful to read and wonder 😊 Your prose is so poetical! I think there is a specific colour you’ve described, possibly it’s something different for everyone, possibly a colour we all know but have never seen?

    Liked by 1 person

  3. “…jigsaw puzzles / with the pieces that make up / the eyes missing from the box?” From start to finish, this is conundrum and discomfort… except for the blanket. The missing color is the key. The key to lost poetry? Great writing, Jilly!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you! As a child my Mom would toss a blanket into the dryer and wrap us kids in it when we came in from sledding; I continue that habit when it is cold, even though sledding isn’t in the picture. It is one of the great comforts of this world. Thanks for reading, Charley.


      1. The puzzle box! Always pieces missing and in this case, it is the eyes from the picture – all terribly symbolic. My family was too careful to ever lose puzzle pieces in reality. Puzzles were survival in the snow belt of the Great Lakes, as you well know. 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

  4. LATE to the reading 😦 Too much Cape Cod — but we are back now. 🙂
    There is a rawness to this one Jilly. I get a feeling in my belly reading this…a discomfort….almost a quiet keening…so much missing within this: the serenity of poetry, the memories in the blanket thrown into the dryer to become warm again….and most poignant the idea of working the puzzle, working the puzzle, and almost at the end, the pieces that complete the eyes are missing….not a simple pleat in the coat…or a bit of the mountain side…but the eyes. Every time I read this (3 times now) — I “feel” it more. Does that make sense? And the title and line in the poem — shipwrecked eggs….I think of fragility within the eggshells and somehow they are dashed here…not just cracked or even peeled, but shipwrecked….like the writer was afloate within them and then dashed.

    Liked by 1 person

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