August 15, 2007
We saw the bridge
wrench apart, sink into
the great river of our lives;
splitting the banks of the water binding north and south,
work and home
into a maze of stray streets,
a labyrinth of confusion.
That bridge must have been a woman
holding together threads of ordinary life
wrought apart by mystery,
desperately needed, but taken for granted
larger than life, speaking to the whole planet
of our wrenched lives,
Now in summer abundance
in a daze of loss
we seek the bridge again.
And those of us who remember,
come to celebrate the woman
who bridged God and humankind
by saying “Yes”, by birthing.
She witnessed death for all,
like the medical assistant still in her scrubs
who offered water, solace on the bridge.
But her body, strangely assumed straight to heaven
Somehow, she is the bridge now.
by Pat Schaefer