Rebecca Foust

The Bridge

after Eric Steeleā€™s documentary film

1. Romance

Panoramic arc and span. One wreck of black
tree. The sea, the sea.
Contrast of verdure and azure. Mica and rust;
dust on the lens and
welts of water like lucent pearls. Fog, a veil
worn to wed your dark love
in a fairy tale. The bereaved, believed to be
sorry now, the friend
who-doth-protest-too-much; not me, please,
please. The inexorable draw of rail.
The struggle, the straddle,
the letting go. The slow
backbend arc of the last on-film fall. A splash,
soft, and off-camera. Silence. Silence and ash.

2. Anastrophe Elegy

Not the woman we all knew. No.
Never would have done she, like this a thing.
How could someone, her, like that ever do?
Knew we the girl: hurdler varsity,
date cute. Sport good. Track quit who
then school to pay rent; for endless hours
tutor of physics; to his M.D,
M.R.S., de Young docent, mother,
cub scout master mistress of,
bleacher-sitter, coach. The Giver,
unabridged version of. Middle-aged sprinter,
than ever faster. Lover, a lesion seeping like
after he left her. Empty was found there.
It, at the bridge ramp, still running, the car.