NaPoWriMo # 28 Concerning Bridges

Red Wagon in the Rain

 ~

Driving by, my peripheral vision

catches sight of a bright red wagon

standing amid weeds on the unkempt

lawn of a Methodist church, verdant

grass unmowed since our latest cloudburst

saturated every garden, turning earth

to mud more liquid and viscous

then Texas dirt has any right to be.

 ~

The scarlet wagon, briefly glimpsed,

framed by crooked trees, resembled

the symbolic bridges traditional

Chinese landscape artists paint

into seasonal landscapes. I suppose

a wagon is a kind of bridge carrying

people, cargo across an expanse of ground

difficult to traverse on foot.

~

Pioneer travelers floated Conestoga wagons

across unbridged waterways and flooded fords

I picture them lined up like pontoon bridges

Roman engineers artfully employed

to cross wide European rivers –

Rhone, Seine, Danube, Tiber.

  ~

It’s raining again, sky full up and heavy

with clouds that dim the light to gray.

The crimson color of that wagon

glows like a lantern in my mind

bridging the gaps between

pioneers and Romans, Methodists

and Oriental art. The past,

the present, the future melt

and meld, moving in slow currents

through my days and I think

I am that red wagon, I

am the bridge.

 

 

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