Bridge

No beams or trusses―

just a simple span of obstacles,

make-do suspension, stubborn enough to find a way,

woven one sleepless night at a time.

I take only memory, ditch the bangles.

Each step aches freedom, dreads narrow spaces.

I want to run―but sidle on―frayed ends exposed

as rope unravels, sways so violently I cry out.

Cavernous echo! I dare not look down;

fear the unknown, some great fish throat.

I hear your voice―and remember

this temporary means from here to there.

tk/April 2015

Lovely dramatic read by R.A.D. ...

Join Magpie Tales creative writing group

Cross the Bridge

I contemplate waves,

skip stones in your eyes,

wade past the shallow parts.

There is no need for old north boats,

since we have uncovered

our own safe passage.  

Baggage drowns in the current;

a selkie dons my wedding veil,

wonders at so many shoes.

Spoon the rest of the journey;

give in to the tug of gravity,

the low ache that drops like stone.

A stormy berth is best, even though

you are too civilized for thunder.

tk/August 2013 

Thanks to R.A.D. Stainforth, taking time from his holiday in Shetland to read this poem.  

photo by Elena Kalis 

Join Magpie Tales creative writing group.