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Writer's pictureJohn Childs Joyce

Paper Plane

Fold,

Crease,

Bend.


In on the self,

Again and again,

And then again.

Press,

Hold,

Grip.


Compression

Against the temptation

To return to form.

Verbal jujitsu

Employed upon self

Spiritual origami

A metamorphosis,

Sans cocoon

Unshielded against

Natural forces.


Minnetonka bathed

Under 4 a.m. faded

Moonlight,

Cloudless sky

Pre dawn.

Die, respawn,

Forgotten former lives,

Preborn.


Grief torn, learned

Through intense difficulty

To celebrate the love,

Shed the loss of

Those we mourn,


None more troubling than

The prior self to he who

Stares back at I and I

Now in the crystal pool

Of collected tears I used

Foolishly each morning

To cleanse my face

Again and again

Awash in yesterday.


Today, blank slate,

Clean sheet,

Thick, white paper,

Perfect folds.


A shape that shaves

The wind and sails on air

Above the rotting flesh

And fresh turned earth

Under which the I,

I once was

Now rests.



The eye with which I

Now see,

The future before me

Undeterred,

Undisturbed.

Unencumbered

By that which I let die.



Finally, after all these years

spent clinging to

emotional insecurities,

Propelled forward,

As I let go

And find

I'm free

To fly.


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