Purple Dragon

Before the winter, before the string, Dad was always gone in the morning *Kahran come down and have your breakfast Kahran what are you doing Kahran we are running late I am going to count to 3* wrapping a bagel, an egg, an egg inside a bagel in a paper towel and out the door; late to see the drops on the petal of a buttercup revealed by the mist pressed on its way by the rising sun;

to be seen only on weekends, because on weekdays we were late to be looking in the shade of a green belt where the deer would carve the trails between the salmonberries, roe on bush, the pale pink of life shining out against the green of life, singular, few; the rare eggs that survive the carnage.

The butter yellow of petals shone at the top of the hill claimed only by them, certainly too steep, too impassable for any of the others; no deer carving paths, one small missed step and I am part of the green belt, one misstep and certain calamity.

The string tore when the storms were not storms as much as mist, rain falling sideways, partially grey maybe sun-breaks forecasted but usually simply overcast: uniformly grey; its a joke that you never saw the sun from November till May like a joke they said what’s orange and looks good on ga-- *don’t you have friends who can give you the math homework which chapter to read which book come due*

maybe friends are like sun-breaks: not normal after November and before May; we are meant to be in the dark, go to school in the dark, return home in the dark; anything else would be not normal *were those people’s lights again off how can you not turn on your lights*.

*

In art, my sister built a purple dragon. Its body was paper-mâché smooth, soft, a dragon born of a recent molt, scales fresh and free of edges, of wear. Its wings had the shimmer of magic and dreams caught in the stretchy, indestructible, shiny, sparkly, plasticky fabric.

My dragon was green, and had a hard lump in his midsection where I had meant to attach a leg. His wings never grew. My parents called him a snake. And one day months after that day they hung him, strung him up and framed him against the sky, and I submitted to photographs of him soaring, wouldn’t it be cool if snakes could fly, they said.

I won a prize, an honorable mention. I was asked to explain why it was it was cool when snakes could fly, gently. I declined to answer, embarrassed. Shamed.

Shame in not having wings, or feet, shame to be wondering if I’d made a dragon at all.

*

The string tore because my dad was gone and my mom didn’t have time for things like strings; *what has happened to the old string how did you pull on it so hard it broke what were you doing* my mom knew the answer to all the questions she asked.

The dragon was born in the fall the year my sister and I went to the same school for the first time and I got to do art after school because my sister did art after school *how can I pick you up at separate times I am not a magician*

*

Her dragon had stars caught in the wings, proud claws. Limbs made of glue, determination. persistence.

I dreams, I’m sister’s dragon. Soaring alone, uncaring of clouds, purple chortling with delight.

When my mother killed the dragon, it was still a bit too big for the bin, despite sundering of the limbs, smashing of the bonds that held them together, of its sense of self-- so when I opened the latch

By pulling the long white string My dad had tied the string so I could enter into our yard from the side the string so I could enter the gate too tall he string it tore sometime around then the string-- I met her from the side door, my namesake, my dream self-- she was splayed at an impossible angle.

Her wings shroud around her, the ripples of delight catching the wind and giving a vague, living, shimmer to her--but the angles of her body, proud chest and tail in the air, spoke to a spinal break.

My mother never spoke of the dragon.

I never told my mom the end of the joke: What’s orange and looks good on gays, they asked? Fire, they answered.

When the winter comes, so comes the grey, and the rain, and it rains, and rains, and rains.