Crane Extinction
My daughter, Daisy, has folded flower petals into bullets. “For origami class in school today,” she says, adding, “I prefer petals to paper.” They lay before her on the table; supple, halcyon growths, plucked and delicately arranged into symbols of violence, proudly displayed for my inspection. Pink ones, blue, and bright yellow, their colors recall to me a summer’s day and a smiling rainbow. Misreading my frown, she confides hastily, “An atom bomb would’ve been more appropriate, and I wanted to make one, but there weren’t enough flowers.”