The Origami Witness

A folded up witness, in origami, sits on the table beside the milk glass vase and the book of "I told you so's"- It weighs a dime in scale with sharpened paper points for wings. This patterned crane in red and gold glint is, perhaps, silent now, but what of the open window above the table? It wouldn't take much to squeeze through a screen which has fallen into such disrepair, and with wind gusts to force the wings to work... Who will hear about the incidents here from this witness, once flat, born to angles? The kitchen fire... Laughing to put it out with lime green oven mitts and salt... A simple spaghetti dinner, with an uncorked wine bottle to plum the room in color... Soap suds on dishes and fresh flowers in the milk glass... A mending kiss on feet, to heal them from a sneaky shard of some broken something or other that escaped the broom, the vacuum, the mop... Who shall hear of these things? It's no longer the fly on the wall who makes these reports... Snippets of this information fly the sky at midnight, one million fancy dressed, soaring, origami, witness cranes of paper, with similar stories to tell blustering the night with the trivial details which make up a home- Wings and red paper memories against the moon...