Some of My Parts

my head is blank

inside me is nothing but cotton balls and musty air

I’m trying to scrounge together some bits

half of an old sock lying at the bottom of my stomach

a broken paper clip twisted around a vein

and other odds and ends hanging on my cluttered parts

taping them together with spit and old gum

shoving my work into a box and throwing a ribbon on top

giving it to someone and hoping they’ll say, “yea, this is great!”

but, of course, all they say is, “huh”

so I scrounge further down inside me torso

some yellowish goop

a broken hair tie

some rotten peas

and scoop it all out on the table

and bring the light closer

and get my magnifying glass

hoping it will amount to more than the sum of its parts.

But it just sits there

a few marbles roll off the table and bounce on the floor

the yellow goop spreads and begins to dribble down onto a chair

I sink on the floor

and pick up a marble

I can almost see my reflection in it

the salty tears rolling down my face

because I will never be more than the sum of my parts

my musty, dusty, unusable parts

Yellow, red, blue, green out of the corner of my eye

Bright rubber balls, shiny slinkies, buttons of all shapes and sizes

Shapes and objects, colors and textures

jumbled in a pile

I walk over and pick up a orange hula hoop,

Swing it around and put it on the floor,

Wrap a purple ribbon around it and toss white flowers in the middle

I stop to wonder if this is allowed

I don't own these things

so I gather up my own marbles

and throw them in the middle and watch them dance and swirl among the flowers

I arrange the many colored objects, occasionally throwing in a few of my own,

mixing them and moving them and twisting them and shoving them

People walk by and say, “doesn't that remind you of…?” and “that makes me think…”

Sometimes they stop and move a few around

Others add in objects of their own

Colors and shapes, shifting, changing, growing

and I’m smiling as I work

Because I don't care what people think

I only care that they look

and it’s a conversation, not a monologue

and together, all together,

with the people and the shapes and the objects and the colors

with the thoughts and the words

we are much more than the sum of our parts.