The table is full of unfinished things.
Broken things. Raw things.
Things begun. Things half finished
and things half abandoned.
There are bowls and boxes and tools.
There are new things.
There are things that are here no more.
Some made into things anew.
It is a place of light,
a constant revelation of unfinished business,
of life as it is,
never quite whole,
a work in progress,
life revealed more in the joy or anger
in the fixing.
About this poem
When my kids were small, I had a place in my office we called the “Daddy Fix-it” pile. Broken things, mostly toys would appear there. I would fix them, More would appear. It was a joy, but it was also a constant for many, many years.
Life can be like that for all of us one day – a constant array of things, sometimes us, that needs to be fixed. It can be tiring. It can be rewarding. But it can’t be escaped.