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The Bridge
A young woman stands at a bridge
Her feet perched against the edge
Like a loon on the verge of plunging into the sea
The sun rains gold across her face and wrists
Soft lines lighting up along her arm
They once shone red, but in time, they have faded to but a remnant
of the pain strangers have painted across her soul
Years before, she stood at this same bridge
Legs weaving their way over the railing
Invisible blood on her hands that only she could see
A child entering the world without a sound
Tiny hands limp next to hers
Was she to jump?
To wash away the blame for which she hardly deserved?
She knows now that it wasn’t her fault, of course
She understands the child
For she, too, had once wanted to leave behind the world
that treated her with such cruelty
But the waters are quiet now
free from the storms that ravaged its shores
And, with the sun to her back, she walks on to the future
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