NINETEEN
Crossing the Bridge

A convoluted and opaque tale, bearing total obscurity
Who would have known, the dark secret beneath

I stood at the end of the bridge
Impatiently waiting for her to catch up
Her footsteps slowed
And came to a halt
Drenched in weariness
Her red doll dress soaked

“Hurry up!” I called out

She crumbled to her knees
Looked up at me
Her voice faltered
Breathing words I couldn’t hear
Her face paled
As though she would faint

The sky dimmed
A hint of nightfall

“C’mon! You slowcoach!”

I turned and walked off
Leaving her to fend for herself
She knew the way home
She would be fine

But she never made it

For three long weeks,

I stood at the end of the bridge
Patiently waited for her to appear
For the familiar footsteps
And the red doll dress

Emptiness greeted
Regret settled


Till then.