The bridge spanned the river,
My river,
The mighty Kings.
We used to walk across the timber,
Remember,
On a warm afternoon.
In the middle we would linger,
To hear the singer,
The cool swift water below.
The wooden planks made our steps ring,
Rhythm of a dream,
The perfect symphony of nature.
Dancing, skipping, laughing we’d resume,
Our journey, our quest,
Enchanted by the treats we’d find in the store.
The bridge was the key, you know,
If you needed to go,
To the magic place of drinks and ice cream.
But now my soul is tortured,
The horror,
My beloved bridge is only in my dreams.
They tore it down, every single beam,
Gone, no more,
To be replaced by something less easily fractured.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Where my family disappears into the mountains every year for a week, the campgrounds are on the opposite side of the river from the store. Growing up we would take a trail that paralleled the twists and turns of the river, and then crossed it over an old style, wooden, bridge. We would often stop and take pictures upstream and downstream, look for fish, marvel in the majesty of the canyon, the raging torrent, the tall trees, and the general magic of nature, all the while anticipating the sweet treats we would find in the store. The boards would creak under our feet. We could see where new ones had been nailed into place to replace those that had worn with age or been washed out by the high currents of spring when the snow melt would come crushing down the valley. It was magic for a child. It was perfect.
A couple years ago they started the process of dismantling the old bridge and replacing it with a more modern version… Metal and cement. When it is done, it will be an eyesore where it spans my beloved nature. On either side will be nature, and something unnatural will link the two… Mostly I’m just sad the Little Prince will never get to walk across the old bridge.
This bit of nostalgia and poetry was brought to you today by the Poetry Prompt from We Drink Because We’re Poets:
“This week I would like you to share with me a poem about a place – a place that was dear to you, but is no longer there. It can be a bar, a museum, a library, bookstore, your old school – anything. I invite you to tell me what changed, what got replaced and how did it make you feel. Form, length, rhyme, all is optional.”
…..
And you, dear kingdomites? Have you had something taken from you?
The Matticus Kingdom 