Flying After Your Death

by Kathleen Kraft

In Memory of My Father

A bird soars through a narrow doorway and through
other doorless rooms.

Soon the walls disappear and still she goes,
through frames

I outline across skies and fields. Rooms that come together
and apart among continuous fields.

A rush of wings behind me, I am still here, drawing in my mind.
Waiting, eyes darting, she takes off from my childhood window:

Small room, violet-flowered wallpaper, baby’s night prayer
framed on the wall.

She swoops down, then rises, weaving among the buildings
until I cannot see her anymore.

And so I go, following her into an old dream where I sprung
among the rooftops of our neighborhood

and back again to the high corners of empty rooms, where I hung
in the air and judged the distances with joy.

Kathleen Kraft received her MFA in Creative Writing from Sarah Lawrence College and is a student at the Writer’s Studio in New York City. She has been published on and She lives with her fiance in Jersey City, NJ, where she teaches creative movement.

Back to Issue Four: Summer 2009