Getting Me Back
by Janna Hill
Tissue thin transparent bits and pieces by the millions I gave to you…
To be received, to be tended or to be rendered useless,
as you deemed fit old inhabitants of terra firma.
Slivers of my soul….
What did you do with these pieces of me?
Where are the misplaced microscopic stars of my spirit, where are they laid?
Did they dissolve beneath a soft autumn rain? Or burn in the heat of a cruel summer day?
Were they consumed by the dust mites of fate?
Giving me away was easy…
getting me back seems nearly impossible.
I saw a fleck of glitter this morning, caught in an abandoned web of time.
I retrieved it ever so carefully, pulling away the tiny choking strands;
polishing it in the palm of my hand till it shone bright like a minuscule star…
and I recognized it as the twinkle I once saw in a smiling photo of me.