Rebecca Foust

The Bridge

after Eric Steele’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.