(bridge jumping)

March 29, 2017

your feet pad across the bridge and the tiny pellets of gravel cling to your feet

like tagalong travelers

you don’t mind the soft bite of rock on flesh

because it leaves little indents        small reminders

without ever breaking the flesh and drawing blood

we reach the arch of the bridge and peer

over the edge                 somehow it is always deeper than it looks

somehow we have never reached the bottom

even though we have tried and tried and tried

you vault yourself up onto the ledge

warm                 soft         hands

on thick         grey         stone

and stand up on it

dusting your feet off

suddenly the water looks much more solid                         much less forgiving

you may shetter yourself instead of the mirror surface i say and you just smile

and reply i’ll wave hello to the lampreys for you

you swan dive in                  the water calmly inhales you without so much as a splash

i haven’t heard from you since and i’ve watched the black water for months but i’m

too afraid                         to go in and rescue you

or maybe you don’t need rescuing

i can only assume that when you waved to the

lampreys and leeches

they opened their terrible circle-saw mouths        and made you their queen