Every time I pass a bridge
I stop awhile and think of jumping
Splashing into murk and pulsing
forward arms in froggy loops.
You are there underneath
Water, waterlilies, tadpoles every time

I pass a bridge, I consider
Shimmying out, over the wall
Stone blocks or iron bars,
My legs above your outstretched arms
I let go and you catch me
Every time, every time, every time

I think of jumping, I pass a bridge
And linger longer, contemplate the deep
Impact I might make, heavy when I hit
the mud if not slowed by water first.
I will meet you, my legs joined, a tail
My breasts cupped by seashells

I pass a bridge. I think of us as children
Jumping up and down and clapping
Tiny hand to tiny hand, sneakered feet
To pavement. Sneakers, pavement meet, kiss,
I shuttle past the wall’s end, out, over, free
Leaving us to gape at me every time

I pass a bridge, hang my head over
body pressed against the walls
think how easy it would be
to let go, tumble over, feel the rush,
my stomach lifted, my soul parted
from my body—two me’s sliding between
You and this life, forever and never.

Photo by Dan Gribbin on Unsplash

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