BRIDGE

by Joanna Gilman Hyde

The Hawk Basement 3:30pm

I have two poems

swirling around in My Head:

The First represents The Shadow of a trinket

bauble, gem, charm, jewel

cast upon My Basement Wall

to the immediate right

of My Rowing Machine’s Arm

It is The Configuration

of a diamond ring

tipped to the right

& out from underneath It

falls, clatters

a rain of darker pieces, shapes

of raw concrete

spilling to the floor

meeting the extension of The Shadow

cast by the elongated arm

The Second is of My Mother & My Daughter:

While I was driving to pick up My Daughter

The Shadow of My Mother took over, briefly

& the car in front of Me

held My Daughter’s initials

& I, as Mother & Daughter

was The Bridge

I am The Bridge