The Mosaic of Me
By Lily Lin
Scrunched up
In a trash can of lined paper scribbled
With golden threads
Me unraveled:
Filled of home and them
my longing for heart-shaped eggs and
Morning prayers when my cats stayed quiet with us
Of that “I love you too” which
Never really dared to roll off my tongue
I cache it.
Filled
when I let go of his hand on that rainy day
Tell him I’m chasing the sun on the other half of the earth.
I return the volume of him
Back on the dusty shelf labeled Home
Kiss him and the soil where we played as kids.
Left.
Filled of me six years old, splashing in a wet rainbow
Stamping the white canvas with colors and fairy dust.
I wonder if the pixie trap actually worked,
if they’ve never left my art?
Filled
when bitter tears flood my lungs at night
When the moon hauls up tides I hide
I tell myself it’s sweet dew I’m tasting
But my fingers are leaking out
deep blue ink
Filled of half finished sentences and
Half bitten down lips
swallow
A tsunami down with jazz.
Filled
With fragments of me that I dig out and bury back down a feet deeper everyday. Pieces of me that
Are clearly from the same puzzle but
Share no common edge.
The mosaic of me.
