Paper Cranes

A crowd gathers to watch the paper crane floating by on an aqua pond,
aquiline noses tilting down to observe its carving path.
I heard once that if there were one thousand paper cranes that you folded by hand,
your dreams would come true.
I remember once I told my grandmother that.
I heard once that she was slowly dying.
I remember once I peered around her bedroom door, unnoticed,
and I watched her slowly folding a single crane, crying in defeat.
I stood all night after the crowd left, slowly folding a paper crane, remembering.
I hovered my crane over the water, wondering what forces pulled its current along
and wondering what forces pulled my grandmother along.
I hesitantly released my crane, a companion for my grandmother’s lone wishing bird.