Abah's Crane
By Janani
Published 20 July 2020
From birth, he taught me
to pass the time
make cranes.
Each wing flattened by the mother nail,
Wings that protect like a pair of soldiers.
He guards me.
Orange paper always on hand,
The colour radiates the summer breath.
He embraces me.
The final fold,
The final crease.
His final crane is with me.
Rebirth in complex memory.
The guardian angel sits, awaiting dust.
He stands by me.
1000 cranes grant a wish.
The possibility to wish the impossible:
to make one more crane with him.