In some ways thinking of bridges
Built tall, raised up upon, made in books
To stretch a mile from isle to shore
Tied together with old weathered boot laces
Braided in their ways to hold together stories
A bridge readable to cross both fun, some difficult
As their tales fill in words, phantom lost imagery
Between wayfaring places both near to far
Where imagination sets in, trailing choices wild
Free to map tangled courses, lands faraway to climb
Out each step, stumble in a jump’s leap inside each story
Lost adventure in a bridge’s tales lining pages while covers
Fade beneath the fire, a young weary sun.
Thoughts while writing the above came out of reading a poem by children’s Librarian, Charlotte Cuevas, and her poem, Day 173 – You And I Are Not Speaking, where the lines speaks, “If I jumped off a bridge they’d say – it must’ve been my shoes untied;”. I thought, and looked down at my boot laces thinking, even if they where braided these won’t last much longer. And well the book, the stories, Charlotte is writing 365 of them in poetry form, and is almost halfway, the journey from isle to shore. One could probably say it’s Charlotte’s mile to shore, to the everyday climb in today’s (each day’s) stories in fiction, and life.
That’s how the above started out, but it’s inter wound, spun on the many different takes to the meaning in such a bridge, adventure, life, one”ll find something different each time reading, as do flow the variety to words, lines, imagery within the tales to such books mixed in bundles, tied together with braided weathered boot laces to span the mile from isle to shore.
What would be the return journey be like, to then reach out in the other direction, a never ending pier, vanishing out across the expanse of water ?