Pieces

"Pieces"           c.2011 by Debra Koehler

The Sky fell yesterday as I was
Picking up the pieces from the Day Before--

("Now did this Cloud come from left of the Sun or Right?
And where does the Sun in Fragments lie?  
Never-mind," said I,
and threw them in my Bucket to sort last night.)

"Hear me, Sisters, Brothers, my pleas do not Scorn--
I wandered for hours Yester-Morn,
Viewing Dreams that had Shattered and fallen a-shred,
Broken Panes for my bloodied feet to tread.
Then boldly, 'I will Set it Right!' cried I,
None of you can or would, thought I."
Day became Eve while I tried to Restore
What was lost the Day Before,
And that was When--
It began to Rain Again.

"O Mercy, God," said i, "Never could I keep
One Crust from You, No Good Thing Save
Which from Your Hand came, nor these!"
And sadly went i abed, only then to weep.

Morning came again, This Morn, and
Here I yet Stand, bucket in Hand,
To rake the Pieces of sundered Dross
From the ground which You and I must Cross.
Tell me where to start, Lord, for i know Naught--
One day's remains look much like another, and
I cannot tell the Days they Fell Apart.

Noon has come, The Sun is Bright,
How hot it is upon my back.
How foolish to Gather yet again, what
No Hand will sew into the Sky,
For Lo, mine cannot reach that High.
I take the bucket, turn it over, and Sit Awhile.
"O, would You sit with me?"

Tears are falling as Rain upon my Skin,
I look up, expecting to see the Sky, Rent Again--
Wasn't it Clear a minute ago?
Confused by the Mist-swirling- Down on me,
I lose my Balance, and Fall Back.
They say that rain is God's tears, God hears,
But my Bucket is gone, and the Shards of Yesterday
Are dissolved.  There's a Hole in the Clouds Above through which
Sun-Light gilds blown petals like Angel-feathers
As it Streams Down on my face.
Joy comes not with Trumpets, but in little Peace-s.