The Old Green Bridge Was Green Again


In the empty of the evening

In the remnants of the day

When my head was half deciding

That fatigue would have its way,

I could hear the bamboo singing

Like it did before the storm

And though a north wind blew,

My heart surrendered to the warm.

In the solace of the evening

When the jasmine liked to bloom,

I imagined that our garden

Still released its sweet perfume

And the dog napped on the porch there,

And the cat pounced on a leaf,

And your love filled all the spaces,

Leaving not an inch for grief.

In that cool, deceitful evening

I imagined you with me.

I imagined that this barren place

Was as it used to be;

I imagined all the houses,

All the people back, and then,

I imagined that the old Green Bridge

Was painted green again.

copyright 2011 Rhonda Lee Richoux From a dream I had after Katrina that our life had returned to normal, that Eddie was still alive, and that the rusty bridge we still insist on calling “The Green Bridge” was painted green again.

Published by Rhonda Lee Richoux

I am retired from the public school system. I create magic wands and spells, write mediocre poetry and the occasional freelance magazine article; research local history and family genealogy; I’m an activist and keep in touch with friends, family and archenemies on Facebook, Twitter, What’s App and Word Press. I'm a Fiipina-Cajun troublemaker and trickster. I'm feeling as invincible as Keith Richards these days. Fuck is my favorite word.

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