under the eight-mile bridge

most nights he slept
in the silent space
between freights
that rolled overhead
like a storm
rocking concrete pillars
planted along
hidden fault lines
under the eight-mile bridge
where gods spoke
through broken wine bottles
& drunken-tongued
stumble bums
coughed up old tales
that colored the air
blue —
haunted faces
like hopeless ghosts
tallying old mistakes
under the eight-mile bridge

his mind was gone
when they brought him
back to the county home
where he lies under nights
too quiet
staring up
restless & confused
wondering what happened
to the thunder
under the eight-mile bridge


Photo by Ridwan RR on Unsplash

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Rapids

Rapids

By Sharon Kennedy-Nolle

Rapids

Rapids

By Sharon Kennedy-Nolle