Leaving

I drew a bridge
over the stream
that borders our town.
My sister painted
tall trees that lean
over the water,
but never cross.
My parents bought the paint, the brushes;
my teachers stretched and primed the canvass.
I painted the path;
it took weeks.
When it was finished,
I was so proud
I walked across it
not knowing
it was the kind of bridge
you only crossed once.

 

 


 

 

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