Crane Fly.

Muradyan, Luisa

    It was days before I saw him again
   body broken on a golden dish
   legs propped in the air.
   He stayed there a long time.
   I peeled a pear in his honor
   left the rind in the sink
   and watched the fruit flies
   hover like hummingbirds.
   And I think of my crane fly
   legs too long wings like a cheap kite wobbling
   and unsure of the wind.
   Like the man I watched for twenty years
   find his way down the staircase every day
   legs crushed against the bed frame, the air he stood on,
   my crane fly, my King Midas.