Children,
I watch you learn the same paper crafts that I learned
Nearly seventy years ago.
I might have been your great grandmother,
Had history taken a different turn.
Fold the paper just right
And pray for me as you set the paper cranes
To flight.
Forever six years old,
I am in every sunbeam, cloud and snowflake
That falls over Hiroshima
As the ashes of my bones,
Caught up in the poison windstorm decades ago,
Look for a peaceful place to rest.
© Judith C Evans 2014
Written for Poets United Midweek Motif prompt: "Hiroshima, or Ring a Bell"
