Tuesday, December 10, 2013

FAUST STREET BRIDGE

When the cold has cheated 
its way down into Texas,
and the wet orange leaves 
carpet Faust Street Bridge,
and we've all forgotten 
to wear our windbreakers:
The Guadalupe is spilling
over the shallow dam.

My sister speaks of life's
little things that add up
to the big things: the coffee
is the morning; the morning
is the job; the job is on the bridge,
and the bridge is historic:
each picture of gray steel
is a narrative waiting for
a couple of characters.

And my sister and I are quieted
by the digraph of the Guadalupe
flowing over the dam into itself,
and then a family of three
thumps upon the bridge,
all of us in a new history.

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