Origami

my parents are like paper.

for they are fragile
against each other. constant
on the watch of being blotted
down with ink.

crumpled by the many years
of raising me. folding themselves toward
the uncertainty of envelopes
and piles of paper sheets. into multitudes
of figures, of shapes resembling bodies.

stapled on the corners with staple wires
rusting. in dust they are collecting. in memory
inducing –

my parents are like paper. for later,
i know inevitably, they will tear up.

later, i hope not soon.
not even in the nearer future.

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