at once transported to the time and place

​I want to tell you about a bridge
that has been slouching
across a 4-lane highway
for so many autumns that
spray paint slopped
by moonlight is a gift.

On one side,

small rain-damp houses
quicksilver bugs
hand-me-down cars
thrift store couches

mothers worn ragged from jobs
with green glass
ashtrays on their desks,
smoke sifting through their
mascara as they type.

Fathers, mostly memory,
missing since we don’t remember when.

On the other side,
more of the same.

Once when I was thirteen
I sat in the middle.
The bridge held me while the sky
​gave me its heart.
Trucks moved below and
summer began its slow burn.

My feet were pendulums ticking toward
somewhere that wasn’t here.

Bear with me.

I want to tell you something
about happiness -
that it is shaped like a wooden bowl
and moves like a flock of birds.

I want to tell you something
about mental illness -
that we didn’t have words for it,
but that it doesn’t need a summons
to seep into the bloodstream
while nobody will look it in the eye.

I want to stand on that bridge again,
to see if it can still work that kind of magic.