I want to be unfolded
into a perfect square of construction
crisp around the corners; cut me to pieces
and the beauty of your imagination
will break my wings.
There's something about origami
that reminds me of struggle,
and hands that are to big to grasp
some of the details
are always destined to view the big picture
but never fly.
There's an old superstition
that says 1000 paper cranes
can save you
but I don't know if my fingers
are that elegant,
if the blood from papercuts taints the fortune
or if you get credit for trying.
Some of the wings are lopsided,
some of the corners are torn
but these are the beauties of imperfections.
And I want to make them out of tissue paper
in honor of your thinning hair
but I'm afraid of breaking you
like I've broken
that I love.
So I will make them
rugged as your exoskeleton
a folded masterpiece too beautiful
for tumors. And radiation may hurt but always remember -
Hiroshima survived chemotherapy.
And I'll keep folding
until I've loved you
1000 times over
into the only Japanese words I really know -
origami, paper folding.
We did it.