Bridges

When I saw London Bridge, decades later,
my first thought was of you.

I remember clasping hands
while our friends walked underneath our bridge.
We sang: Falling down, Falling down.
We'd trap them and snort with laughter.

There were bridge games in our mothers' cars, too:
First, hold your breath past the old graveyard,
then, while you're crossing that Fifth Street Bridge,
lift your feet!

You are just a shadow in my life,
but one of the longest shadows, at that.
So far apart, and yet I can hear your laughter like it's coming from my backyard.

You are what made my childhood a childhood.

Oh, to climb a plum tree again!
To let our ducks swim free in that creek under the bridge, then
to return, to feed them the next day, to call them by name.

To jump rope, to hit a tetherball, to freeze in the beam of a flashlight.
To fall over laughing. To hide, to seek.
To hold our breath past that graveyard, hearts pounding.

I do all these things, still.
I seek you out and meet you many nights on the bridge,
to help still my ancient pounding heart, my racing brain.
I become nine again.

I hide behind you.
Then I sleep.