Jars of Bits and Pieces - Lucille Hamilton

In the on-going effort to clear and clean my home down to 

the bare bones of necessity, I have put a jar in each room.

They are labelled "Found," because whatever is in them, the

remaining part is either unidentifiable or just still lost, so the 

jar sits where the missing part might have been seen last,

waiting for a reunion of sorts.

We 

are bits and pieces,

jig-saw puzzles, on the surface,

put together,

pieces missing we discover

as we go on,

trying to make our way as a whole.

Of all the descriptions of what it is to be

a woman or a man,

what pieces do you feel you lack or are you missing,

what is the description that was hard for you to choose,

hard for you to become, or even contemplate,

because

somewhere in the evolving years there was some accepted

reason why

that job didn't appeal to you, or quite suit your needs;

or

where you chose to live, or work, or be,

there wasn't that opportunity.

There are so many reasons, aren't there,

and you are being honest with yourself

with your answers.

It's appropriate to keep them in a glass-seeable jar

with a large mouth and lid, easy to take out and deal with

as the occasion arises,

those times when you feel incomplete in your desired self-description.

when you might reach far back for the understanding and compassion

for something you are now criticizing in your ever-emerging self.

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