Big Puzzle Little House

We build a puzzle every New Year’s Eve.
It started in my husband’s parents’ place
more years ago than many will believe,
when they were still alive, before disgrace,
divorce and scandal altered gatherings.
My daughter loves tradition, so she buys
a jigsaw puzzle with the winter things –
we bend to it as New Year’s exercise.

But now the virus forces us apart,
she purchased two and mailed a box to me.
She made me promise her I wouldn’t start
it early – we’d construct as family.
But I’ve a single table. It’s not good.
One thousand pieces cover all the wood.

This entry was posted in Coronaverse, Family, Home, Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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