A biography of necessity begins at a point in time,
but a real life may accumulate like snow,
until it moves forward slowly, as a glacier will.
Another life may assemble like a jigsaw puzzle, the final picture
inevitable, whichever piece is first laid on the table.
A bell rings at the middle school up the street, and fleetingly,
the image of a child runs into the house and calls me Mom,
but there is no puzzle piece that shows a child.