On The Bridge

Written for:  The Sunday Whirl, Wordle #236

Words:  following, fall, sign, right, line, tight, drink, bridge, rose, flair, spell, spare

Walking across the bridge
at midnight, tight from drink,
he stops at the railing,
light of moon falling on face.
He feels like a conjurer
has put his life under
a bad spell. Hell, why
shouldn’t he jump? He has no
flair for life. He casts about
for a sign to spare him. Sees none.
Oh how he hates that line, we are down-
sizing. Every office worker knows
what follows. Despite the alcohol,
he has a hollow feeling in his gut.
No wife, no job, no savings. Then,
movement. He turns. Catches a glimpse
of a white dress further along. He heads
in that direction. Someone may need
help. Approaching the spot, he finds
one red rose lying on the ground.
He picks it up, and begins walking
across the bridge, watching
for the white dress.


About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
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3 Responses to On The Bridge

  1. Jae Rose says:

    I hope I hope that the universe always intervenes in these moments of despair..i think very few people if we could ask them afterwards would be certain that jumping was the ‘right’ thing – and it is brave in a way – the white dress and rose are the magic of the world..the kindness of strangers…someone looking over us..keeping us safe..even if for a little while longer..a beautiful and tenderly written poem


  2. Very mysterious! Did the woman in white jump? Drop the rose accidently? Drop it on purpose so he would follow? I really like that you don’t answer these questions for me. And I like that this poem has movement from the fear and despair of the beginning to the curiosity at the end.


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