The thin, grey lines criss-cross the sky
Dissect our view into rectangles and slivers
Traffic drone is the only silence the bridge knows
Pedestrians and bicyclists flow around us
Our backs to the center tower, my face in the sun
Yours in the shade.

“You don’t have to come to the airport.”
“I know.”

The city seems so small from here
Just a bit of land sticking out of the water
Someone had the audacity to plant buildings upon
A million people bouncing around
Like pachinko balls, meeting and parting
At noisy, unpredictable trajectories.

Walking back, we hold hands, laugh easily into the cool air
The streets of the city open up to us as we approach
I am sad and happy, knowing how much you will miss this,
I squeeze your hand tighter
The East River shimmers silver.

I know what holds the Brooklyn Bridge up
It is not only the giant pylons planted below the water
It is the steel-spun web of cables
Lifting the deck like suspender pants,
Holding it up
Like hope.

Days later your plane leaves
Making a thin, grey line across the sky.
I feel heavier, feel like falling down
The supports have collapsed
But something holds me up anyway.


©rikpanganiban
july1997