Fantail
Elisabeth Murawski
I sprinkle fish food
from a small tin box.
Not too much,
or she will float.
I have tried to run away
from this house.
It doesn’t matter
to the fantail.
She is graceful. I am not.
We look at each other
through the glass.
She is shining
like some star
she cannot see.
Her filmy wings flutter
like kimono sleeves.