I made the pieces fit then took them apart
then made them fit when I got tired I lay me down my little head
against the flannel chicks and ducks then slept then woke then took
the puzzle up my mother had another child sick unto death
she needed me to fall in love with solitude I fell in love
it is my toy my happiness. . .
poem: excerpt from “Fox,” by Ellen Bryant Voight. Read the rest of the poem at the Atlantic.