View from the Bridge

Roger Camp

Roger Camp

I was leaning on the railing,
contemplating my life in the way
bridges seem to draw one into reflection.

The sun was at my back,
my shadow in the water below,
a distorted view of my dark side.

A skidding mallard
rippled through my shade
purling me out of focus.

Something half sunken
drifted into my being,
a slough shed by a snake.

If only I could do the same,
a molting that would cast aside
my life's hide

releasing pure reflection
that would permit me
to see my way clear,

clean to the bottom.

Explore the power of words

Select your story