Poem: What You Made

What You Made

Long before the moment you sunk
your scissors into the patterned
cardboard sheet, you had left your
mark. How could you have known
you would cut out all the tiny pieces
for more than a dozen cards
but complete only three? Maybe
you did know. Maybe you left
the bottle of glue open on purpose,
to freeze the moment of creation.
Or maybe we failed to notice
it was stuck open all along, daring
the elements to decide its fate
in the absence of closure. It would
be easy to think of what you made,
precious as it is in our trembling
hands, as a sign—a discovery
from a parallel universe made real
as a tangible expression of your
love. It would be much harder,
of course, to imagine the unfinished
fragments pieced together, holding
themselves in a shape that abides,
a shearing that’s also somehow a gift.

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