There’s stuff missing. the old man says.
Ivory on the keys.
Veneer on the furniture.
There’s stuff missing, the old man repeats,
I can’t see as well
and it takes time to think, as if
someone has taken some of the little grey cells,
bit by bit, in an experiment
to see how few I actually need.
Less than you would have thought, it turns out.
The simple survive just fine.
There’s stuff missing.
That whole happily ever after bit took quite a hit.
There are chinks in it, divots
where I had to have surgery on my soul
The scars hide
what is missing.
It could be worse, the old man says.
Survival has its benefits.
There are children to hear,
seasons to see, and miracles
waiting to arrive.
Magic and love, it appears,
work just fine with missing parts.