Cranes
I
We spoke the other day about suffering
You were talking about your clients
Who live under bridges
Whose homes are often a warm overcoat
But I think you were really wondering about yourself
You take a walk
on good days
when your legs aren’t betrayed
by their rheumatoid joints
I keep asking you to take it easy
quit your job
Come up to Vermont
Although I know, really, why you don’t
You are a beacon
Shedding light
For those around you
Your suffering is a fire
Consuming the dross
as its sparks rise into the sky
II
Your hands, nearly helpless now
Lie folded in your lap
You watch as we fold origami cranes
The girls are going for a thousand
It’s dinnertime and we’re only on our third
But I’m not saying a word
I’m slowly learning
That even if we do everything we’re told
Our wishes won’t be granted
For it’s the work itself that is the gift
These days it’s my turn to watch
Your hands slowly curling in on themselves
Making their own delicate cranes
Perhaps our bodies know something
Our minds don’t want to acknowledge;
That unless we fold inward
We will never find the freedom
Of unfolding into flight
III
This life is a training ground
We’re here to learn
and eventually
go home
And it is through our glorious
or imperfect bodies
that we have that chance
What could be a greater gift
Than the opportunity to work
Towards our own divinity
Through these vessels?
Health, status and ability
are given
then taken away
When we loosen our grip
And let our trust
peel away our fear
One day we may find
the cage door open
and that we are, indeed
ready for flight