Poem 20150428

Here’s the prompt from #NaPoWriMo:

And now for today’s prompt (optional, as always). Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem about bridges. A bridge is a powerful metaphor, and when you start looking for bridges in poems, you find them everywhere. Your poem could be about a real bridge or an imaginary or ideal bridge. It could be one you cross every day, or one that simply seems to stand for something larger – for the idea of connection or distance, for the idea of movement and travel and new horizons.

—–
the three little pigs gave me these
building materials just for a song
watch out for wolves, they joked
at least i think they were joking

the river that kept me from where you are
runs black in winter, never freezing over
but always full of ice. you can see the faces
of the men who have tried to cross in their too-small boats

under the surface, eyes closed, at peace with
the inevitability of it all. the water is fine,
they whisper, come on in. but i’m not interested
in the soft, muddy bottom, swirling with voices

in summer, the sun shrinks the banks
and i find remembrances of the men
trinkets they tried to carry to you from pockets
now rotted and disturbed by the micro currents

i wait until fall because i know it’s your
favorite season, winds, and leaves, and browns
before i get to work on the bridge. i had hoped
that there would be progress on the other side

but heavy fog over the water keeps me guessing
so i build the bridge out. it’s amazing since
i’ve never built anything more complicated than
a birdhouse before. i hope i have enough

straw and twigs to make it all the way across
but the water seems to widen with every plank i add.
and i’ve started seeing wolves with torches in
their mouths out of the corner of my eye