Poetry / March 2017 (Issue 35)

Above the Fold

by Deborah Guzzi

little brother I remember you,
so fierce, I folded black paper to make
you a samurai hat

the shoji screen
topples as you run past:
the cock crows

years sweep by frothing with the
power of a tsunami, you were torn
by air and sea, I made you a boat

koi thrash as
you toss them bits of bread:
friends call

head and shoulders taller than I, you stand
before father’s camera smile less, the
rising sun on your forehead

mother and I serve
you tea on the tatami:
cherry blossoms fall

a square of blue-red paper blossoms
with my tears, frozen fingertips sting
with paper cuts—1000 crane

a raven in the sun
preens its broken wing: smoke rises

 Deborah Guzzi is a healing facilitator, healing through touch and the written word. She has written three books: The Healing Heart, Heaven & Hell in a Nutshell, and The Hurricane. They are available at This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it and Prolific Press. Her poetry has appeared in publications in Britain, Canada, Australia, Hong Kong, Singapore, New Zealand, Greece, India and the United States. Visit her website for more information.
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