Wednesday, October 14, 2015

2015 OctPoWriMo #14: The Bridge

The Bridge

It’s one of those bridges,
a rickety suggestion
of rope, secured
either end
by hope
and maybe
a nail, a tenpenny
leftover rusted through
and ready to fail.

I cling, I claw,
palms raw, uncertain
how I ended up here,
a thread away

blue, misted hues
of unknown depth.
Is it water?  Or is the
ground too far away
for eye to find it.

Behind, the
echoes of the girl
I was - toddler, tween
and twenty - eyes
shut and shaking

The rope

self rises
from chest
to leave me
with all the rest.

When the rope snaps,
we fall.

fingers once mine 
tuck a tenpenny 
nail into pocket.
and my feet
without me.

Poet's Note:  The prompt was the bridge from yesterday to today.

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