Mutated Paper Cranes

words by Jasmine Palomino, art by Riese Carlson

“It looks…” 

Mutated? Deformed? 

Not like a crane, that was for sure.

Dad finished folding his square of pink paper,

The crane’s wings curling over his thumb,

The head formed with a pinch of his finger.

With a tug of the tail, the wings flapped,

And my jaw nearly slapped the table

As the crane came alive.

Dad laughed and placed his crane next to mine,

Saying, “Keep trying. Someday yours will fly.”

Craft stores then feared to see my little hands coming,

Coming for their rainbow of papers and step-by-steps.

I sent a plane through the air and put a hat on my hair,

Catapulted frogs over my friends’ arms while we pushed

Boats that really did float down the creek in my backyard.

After flowers and butterflies and two fortune tellers a night,

My crane finally spread its wings, and together

Dad and I watched it take flight.

What happened to those days, I wonder

As a crane lands in the pond by the tree I sit under.

The white, daunting assignment sheet sits in my hands,

While I try to understand how I could’ve left behind

The feeling, the wonder, the simple joy

Of creating things and being alive.

With tired hands that have struggled to type all day,

I fold my paper in half, then again the other way,

Trying to remember the shapes I so loved to make.

Slowly, after many creases and crinkles and uneven edges,

After all the years I’ve set my rainbow of paper aside,

A slightly mutated crane takes shape before me.

I tug on the tail, and would you look at that–it flies.

A smile months in the making lights up my face,

And I rush back to my place with a handful of paper,

Needing to create everything I can remember.

Sturdy planes take to the air once more, while

Flimsy boats sink before they can leave the shore.

There’s a gorgeous new flower I discover,

Then another new fold–and another, and another.

My roommates’ desks are colonized

By dragons and frogs and butterflies.

I think Dad will be impressed when I come home

With piles and piles of new creations to show.

But I think he’ll be even happier when I say

That my favorite is still his paper crane.