Perhaps a simple beam bridge made of wood, one you might see
while walking in the country, easing you over a shallow creek.
But the creek isn’t so shallow is it Mother, it is swirling with rapids
of slaps and lies and broken promises, roiling eddies of deceit.
Maybe a suspension bridge more than a mile long with cables
and towers,
so there is plenty of time to stroll across before meeting in
the middle.
Even time to stop for a sandwich, to watch red hawks circle overhead.
After all no hurry is there, it’s been forty years.
Or a truss bridge made with triangles built to bear a load,
and Mother we have a load between us. Do you remember when
you stole
the money I saved for a Schwinn Tiger bike and then you accused me
of stealing the money from you, and the world spun and I
wondered if
I really saw empty scotch bottles in the back of your closet, the
doctor leaving
your bedroom, buttoning his shirt. Did I really hear you call
the housekeeper
who ironed our dresses and made the best lemon meringue pie ever
an ignorant black bitch, did I?
The last piece of steel in place, the ribbon cut by the mayor’s lackey.
A high school band plays a warbling “Bridge over Troubled Waters,”
while cheerleaders leap out of synch, tripping and toppling.
We step slowly across the span, moving toward each other.
I see your raised arm, is that a hairbrush, a wooden spoon, a belt?
I hear splintered cries wind-tossed, do I? worthless,
greedy, ungrateful
Knots stone my stomach, black footsteps thrum closer.
The bridge shudders and shakes. I jump.
powerful poem and one I could relate to. Thank you.