On The Bridge We’ll Meet

Photo by Venti Views on Unsplash

A Poem by Alexis Ragan

Previously Published in Ekstasis

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood— Robert Frost

There is a bridge that waits at 

the airports of both our flights, or 

did you travel by train? No matter. 

Both intersect at the hands of 

this architect.

I beg to differ with the world’s most 

famous bridge. San Francisco doesn’t 

let cars sail to Alcatraz or ships drive 

the length of the gate. You can’t even 

see the surf beneath you. 

The blueprints were previewed in pews

apart from carnal approval, sketched by

hands unfamiliar to the circle, and formed

with diaphanous glass, a single pearl, and

sweat from the brow of one builder.

On the bridge we’ll meet, to the bridge we belong, 

is a bridge meant for all, though not found by many.