Koi

The wind sock on the balcony is writhing

in the cold January air.

It is shaped like a fish, a Japanese koi

red and white with mouth agape.

Like so many things, it was here before I was.

When we moved into this city house

the owner had left it behind

dangling.

It has become mine

not by signing mortgage agreements

or insurance policies

but slowly

as the concept of owning land

of owning a home

has begun to make sense.

This koi can tell me

part of the story I wasn't around for,

can explain how the apple tree grew to be so big

why the rose bushes are everywhere on the lawn

what the crooked door frame is all about;

can help me understand that my time

is part of the bigger, endless moment;

that I am young but not forever

that I am here but not forever.

Standing outside, I wonder

about koi and the past

hoping I'll be well remembered.