no more photographs
of a lone raptor
against the sun

I’ll always love
the ramshackle graves of el norte
covered in paper roses

you might fold a thousand cranes
but never master
the origami of memory

I saw your face
but also the familiar shape of your back
walking away from me

the school girls vaporized
reduced to
E=mc squared

vexing the bride
the headstone

the shroud was to hide
the dead
from the envious living

the ocean
no longer recognized me
I’d been gone for too long

and the child tells me:
grandma, you are not a bird
you have no wings to fly

Miriam Sagan is the author of 30 books of poetry, memoir, and fiction. She blogs at Miriam's Well -- Read other articles by Miriam, or visit Miriam's website.