Suspended in Transit

I step onto the bridge, hear it groan beneath me—

a shaky voice in steel and wood.

Rust flakes off like dry blood,

and the river below cuts cold and slow.

A gust catches me, and the whole span sways,

heart lifted, caught in that loose moment.

Between where I am and where I’m going,

the air feels thin, brittle, and stretched tight.

I clutch the peeling railing, fingers numb,

knowing the weight of crossing, the fragile tether

that holds me to one side or the other,

as the river laughs under the cracks.