We thought she was slightly stooped on purpose,
to be our height and, for a little while at least,
not stand out: our beautiful crane. And she
always avoided the center of things, stepping
back to lean against a wall or blackboard, a mountain
in the distance, miles and miles away, and so of no concern.
When she spread out her arms we thought she could
soar above the playground, but the irony was
she was afraid of heights and didn’t come along when we
climbed West Peak where the old castle awaited us;
and when she was in college a gust of wind blew
her VW off the road somewhere in Colorado or Idaho
and we were so saddened by the news: it was as if someone
had put our lovely bird in a cage and tossed it into the air
and expected her to fly and carry the cage along with her.
From Missing Persons (Encircle Publications, 2015)
– Finalist for the 2011 Mississippi Review Prize