Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Against the Stark

Two Cranes Dancing
- all awkward grace and
squawking leaps
against the stark white face
- of winter, darkening.

This is what my father's origami crane makes me think: dark nights in a dark home, warmed by the woodfire stove in the basement, insulated and imprisoned. Then an orange cat tumbles across the modern floor of my apartment, and I'm brought back to now. The cat shreds its prize: a red paper crane whose wings no longer fly.


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