Pieces

Pieces of me lie scattered across this land, across time.
Some pieces swing on grapevines over ravines
not far from the coalmines. Some pieces had heroes.

Some pieces lost pieces of themselves.

And the pieces that are left . . .
They sometimes seem to forget what confidence is

and are not
quite sure
of anything.

© 2020 James Eric Watkins

*Published in the Scioto Voice Newspaper