I remember when the origami crane named Poetry
flew into my disordered life
I was lying on my second-floor bed staring out the
window into the trees.
As the breeze whispered its secrets to me,
Poetry landed on my pillow
compelling me to unfold and discover;
the first fold opened with a tick, tock, metronomic clock
and I smiled thinking it a robot;
I unfolded its wing and heard the sweetest melody
agreeing, at first, with the clocklike beat,
then becoming looser, freer, stirring my imagination.
I rolled it out flat after that, running my fingers along
the creases, trying to guess what lay between the lines.
A swelling of emotion arose in me, a curiosity as well.
I began to love this little unfolded page, I wanted to make it fly again.
I tried to refold it, to re-invent the flying crane.
I’ve been trying to get it right ever since then.
Once in a while, I get it to fly again – when I think very hard,
imagine very deep, and try with all my heart.
© Gay Reiser Cannon – 3.4.2014