Today’s choice
Previous poems
Paul Bavister
Jigsaw
A family photo, blown up and chopped
into a thousand pieces then tipped
on the table. We found our eyes first,
as they swirled through fragments
of black jumper, dark pine trees
and an orange sunset sky.
The jigsaw became a winter tradition,
and as we got older, the worn pieces
got harder to push together.
Sometimes we’d panic
that one was lost, but then find it
still rattling in the box.
When a side was completed
or a face stared back at us,
we’d nod in recognition.
We were always silent
as we put us all back together
in the winter sunlight.
Paul Bavister has published three volumes of poetry, including The Prawn Season (Two Rivers Press). His work has appeared in numerous magazines.
Alan Humm
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Gaynor Kane
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Bex Hainsworth
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Georgina Jeronymides-Norie
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