April 19: Bridge

by allisonkujiraoka

Every morning, my boy walks

over the bridge to school.

He vanishes around the corner,

meets his friend,

then becomes visible again,

crossing the bridge.

They pace their way up the arc

heads down

then looking around.

Feeling the weight on shoulders

and arms and backs

of their age and education.

Buttoned into uniform state,

black pant legs flap, stiff collars straight.

I hold my breath, remember where I stood.

It’s hard to be a kid, going on adulthood.

To dress the part and learn the lines

after screwing up a thousand times.

To cross those bridges, plant your feet on the other side.