Wednesday, July 01, 2009


Photo collage by S. Auberle
In those days it was a big adventure
to pack a peanut butter sandwich,
ride your bike from the north end of town
down to the Big Four bridge,
climb the cinder-gravel hill to the top,
because in that flat Midwestern town,
there were no mountains--
the bridge was the pinnacle,
and then you could look out
over the whole town, see its smallness
and you were queen of all you saw,
till the train whistle sounded faraway
and you had to scramble off the bridge,
because there was no place to escape,
no way but to run, as fast
as your pounding heart would take you,
off the bridge, down the embankment,
cinders and gravel tearing at your skin,
stories of children sucked under train wheels,
of a man buried in the bridge pillars
tearing at your mind--all those risks you took,
to see past your small horizons,
to find your place in the world,
to know you were alive.
~ mimi


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