Under the Bridge
In stories nothing good happens under a bridge.
From trolls and teenage delinquents to ghoulish apparitionsand mass murderers,
the beings that live under the bridge seem to find little solace in their drafty, sinister home.
The stories are wrong though, under the bridge is mystery and safety.
It’s where you and your sister
sat with your feet in the water and your heads in the clouds
as you giggle and dream of the future.
It’s where you go when you can’t take the pressure any more.
The water under the bridge washes the anger from your body and the tears from your face,
it gurgles and glistens merrily laughing with you and tickling your feet.
Under the bridge there is graffiti. You sit in wonder and guess at the meaning behind each picture and hastily written word.
You long to see the lost soul who snuck under the bridge and wrote John 3:16 in white paint. In
your mind you watch them write.
They are shaking with adrenaline and perhaps emotion.
They glance over their shoulder to make sure they are truly alone and then seeing that they are, they smile.
They understand the truth of under the bridge also.
Under the bridge there is a magic land.
It’s Narnia, Terabithia, and Neverland all rolled into one.
Somewhere that you can be all forms of yourself: you can have the imagination
of the 6 year old you;
the star struck eyes and dreamy gaze the 17 year old you;
and the fear for the future of
a 40 year old you.
Under the bridge the world makes a little more sense. Under the bridge everything is better.
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