"The first one comes today."
The beautiful thing of paper trembled on my palm.
"How can I? I will kill it."
His hand lay warm on my back. I knew the brokenness of his smile.
"Carefully. I can refold it."
I found an edge and folded it out. Another. Another. I spread the crane's wings, fearful of tearing, pretending not to see the words, not till I could see them all, the pen strokes marred by folds.
Spend your years with me
Twenty thousand morning cranes
Await your answer
Something inside me unfolded, fearful of tearing.