I lost a part of me.
It is nowhere to be found.
Without a part, is there a whole?
How can I get around?
Without a part of the foundation,
The building is unfit.
I lost a part of me.
I am a fraction, not a unit.
Shall I go in search of my part,
Or let it vanish through a portal?
When a piece is missing,
Does one continue to be mortal?
Without an organ
The body suffers.
If there is no J.P. Morgan?
What is the point of a coffer?
What if … I were to fill
This empty deal (that assails me)?
Me, I can rebuild
Life is a cycle, a wheel
When a tree is felled,
The forest continues.
And a new seed is tilled,
The emptiness mellows.
And that is why, I do not despair,
I move ahead, head held high.
I am made of various parts,
Not by one am I defined.
Nina Goldfeld is a 16-year-old Brazilian/American, born and raised in Rio de Janeiro. She is a junior in her high school EDEM. Nina started writing poetry right before COVID struck in Brazil, and hasn't stopped writing in both English and Portuguese. She is also a ballerina and a contortionist, but loves doing pretty much anything that doesn't involve other people telling her what to do. Image created by Elaine Lara Rosa Forman
