Bridge

You ask me
where I go,

when I retreat
from the world.

I'm sitting,
on a bridge
in a gray sweater, and faded jeans,
looking at the autumn leaves.

I'm feeling
the bleak emptiness
that comes from crying
for long periods of time.

I'm
watching the road
that winds away,
wishing I were on it.

I'm all alone,
and I
like it that way.

I see the water beneath me
stopped in time
by a fallen tree

I hear the birds sing
and the leaves rustle
and I am at peace.

But eventually
I return to the world

Where I am the water,
Fighting to get past the tree
But still
stopped in time.

**Published in Slam! An Anthology of Spoken Word Poetry Volume 2, March 17, 2003