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| | From: susannah (Original Message) | Sent: 4/28/2002 8:12 PM |
you are crossing this bridge. describe where are you coming from; describe where are you going to. why.... |
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the dark damp forest dressed me like a mother would in lacey ferns and dewdrops tiring of this homespun garb i thought i might like to dress myself and so i crossed the bridge into the glaring open air naked and alone what i found was a cold place of mindless polyester womans' fashion i return now to motherwood where the clothing is made with instinct and love -centime plus 4/28/2002 |
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The Bridge It is Spring. I take few belongings. My husband and I cross the Czechoslovakian border today. There are rumblings in Prague, that unsteady city with echoing march, the sound of tanks rolling - we are seasick on this weathered, wooden bridge; there is no time to think. To the east the Wall - we gather our strength for Poland instead; our child in Bialystok. A long, arduous journey - God willing, we will reach her... Always, we hear new thundering - the force of labor in the distance. 4/28/02 Copyright©2002 Susan Katz. All rights reserved. |
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| | From: Connor | Sent: 4/30/2002 11:07 PM |
I am Jack, you know... Jack.... from Jack and the Beanstalk. And I'm crossing this reinforced bridge, which leads to the giant's house. He makes it tremble when he puts his foul heels there. I have seen that from beneath the bridge, where I wait with the trolls. Wait. Waiting to get at his harp and his goose that lays his gold eggs. And, yes, I am also brave. b r a v e. There aren't many of us left. Jack |
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| | From: Ron | Sent: 5/1/2002 11:22 PM |
Great! So I post the draft rather than the rewrite. Kick me in the ass and call me stupid. Susan, can you delete my embarrassment? The right post follows for better or worse - no, it couldn't be much worse. New bridge over East Bay, waters free of brine, the sea retreated from triumph of summer when she rode over the old crossing built a year before our fathers fought on Pacific islands, parched graveyards rising from depths of an ocean. Survivors returned, cast lines from the familiar span, certainty shrunken to flow of tides upon pilings rounded as concrete bunkers hulked in their dreams. Stubborn pillars stand alone now in muck of the bottom, the bridge bed raised and shattered on the storm’s surge, broken pieces tumbled in currents over an unseen surface to shores recalled by old men as we nod in ignorant sympathy.
We crossed first at morning among refugees allowed brief return, coming to your home over the new beach lying on the road. We sought last small things, the most important lashed on the truck under cottonseed tarps when the shrimpers warned of a hurricane and we abandoned the place to dunes soon conscripted by the Gulf, pushed through every room, sea grass already growing where the windward wall fell before the weight. You cried at midday when we crossed again, and I listened to keening of cables in wind echo shrieks heard by old artillerymen when they dream steel screams. |
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members have the power to delete their own posts. suze |
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crow - do you mean: woman's or --- women's ? suze |
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| | From: helen | Sent: 5/3/2002 7:10 PM |
just driving for the sake of the cross i have always liked suspense how cables keep us from certain death the idea of massive peers anchored in the sea's virgin bed like a lover who could not be refused. i really have nowhere to go nothing waiting on the other side i am driving to be puppeteered by the wind to see the the surface of the water white cap from the pressure of the bedrock on the peers dw/5-3-02 |
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helen - you want: peers? or piers. and do you want a period at the very end?? susan |
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| | From: helen | Sent: 5/4/2002 8:24 PM |
yes i suppose that is piers.......no period......i never finish anything. thanks for asking |
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suze, i think women's is what i mean...thanks fer asking. crow |
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