The Bridge

By

Jane Seatter

`

In the night

while the birds and beasts slept

and all the cities were still

the water whirled and frothed

making the crossing a nightmare.

The wooden plank

swung in the blue-black breeze

and the yellow moon

danced in the swirling river.

Each step was a step of terror

and each breath in

could have been the last

if a branch was to crack

or the frayed rope gave up

its tenuous hold.

In that night

and many other nights

the end was never reached.

Instead, the reel of horror

left her balancing,

swaying,

crying out for her life

in the moment before dawn.