We hide much of our grief
under bridges, in the dark space
between stones, or weighted
--let it sink beneath the silt—
We hope for the shadows
to consume our untold woe,
all bridges being built for crossing.
For Marian's Fussy Little Forms: Puente
That's nice, to work the idea of bridging into the words of your poem too.of
ReplyDelete('Scuse typo at end.)
DeleteThanks, Rosemary. I'm a bit low on inspiration at the moment.
Delete;-)
The idea of shadows consuming untold woe is both beautiful and evocative. Fabulous work on the form, Kerry!❤️
ReplyDeleteSome of us prefer not to show our woes to the light of day. thank you, Sanaa.
DeleteSo, nice poem. How true the bridges should always be for connecting good and assimilating our woes,
ReplyDeleteThank you for reading, Vandana.
DeleteYes, I too like how bridges show up in this bridge poem. Grief is like this, but if we let it sink beneath silt perhaps we join it there?
ReplyDeleteAck this reminds me of my childhood fear of quicksand! :)
Perhaps... perhaps we should tie grief to a balloon and watch it float away.
DeleteNicely done puente ... perfectly weighted and balanced, like a suspension bridge ... on the topic, sorry for the crude reference but what's that old joke--why did God give a woman breasts? So men would talk to women ... OK, awfulness aside, but I wonder if that's why God gave us grief, why else would we go down into those dark soulful places? Bridges are like scars, they tell us much about wounds ...
ReplyDeleteYeah, bridges and scars have a lot in common. It does no good to get stuck on the bridge. Feed the troll, move on.
DeleteAt the beginning of loss, there is hiding. But, I think, that once the sun turns and turns... the hiding turns into putting away, even planting a mushroom or three in dark and silt. So, that we can see that bit of light while the crossing is being done.
ReplyDeleteI love the closing line, and believe it...
Great comment! Thanks, Magaly.
DeleteI like how you use the bridge to be the bridge. If only bridges could consume our grief.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful, Kerry. Nice to send loss to lurk under a bridge, free up some space inside. Smiles.
ReplyDeleteI really like the inclusion of digging into silt... the place of the crossing is what the bridge is for.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Bjorn. It was a quick write so I'm glad I managed to convey something of an idea, at least.
Delete:-)
Oh it is so difficult to build or walk that bridge of loss, but to live we must.
ReplyDeleteTo live, we must...
DeleteSo many bridges in life, really. There was a bridge as a child I liked to sit under - felt protected, safe. Even magical a bit. And of course, some bridges we don't want to cross at all. I like the weighted grief - sinking beneath the silt and untold woes. Can we leave them behind and cross the bridge?
ReplyDeleteNot entirely, I fear.. the baggage remains no matter how we try to leave it behind.
DeleteThis morning, I find myself, on the Bridge of Forgotten Tears, as memories are triggered forth, from love ones, long gone. Wishing, I didn't have to cross these planks, held together, by bundles of synapses and gray matter. May you find the healing that you seek for your soul and heart.
ReplyDeleteOh that last line sums up the wisdom in this beautifully Kerry! I love this!
ReplyDeleteMost bridges terrify me, especially over long expanses of water - high up. Your poem is soothing .....
ReplyDeleteBridges to hide our woes. I like this idea, and your wise ending.
ReplyDeleteBridges help people travel across obstacles but the do a lot more than that. Here in the States a major but unplanned use is to give shelter to our homeless masses.
ReplyDelete..
not too far from where I grew up is a small hamlet named Moss Landing, abutting the Pacific, with sloughs filled with silt on which one might see clammers searching their prey at low tide as one drives across the low-slung bridge. this is the image your puente brought to me, and drove home with your final line ~
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