A View from the Bridge

By Anne Marie Hunter | Published

Mar

2014

From the bridge I see a woman in a red coat,

walking in drizzle along the narrow trail?at river’s edge-

a tangled tapestry of blackberry vines, rock and sand.

Her brown dog jumps in and out of the water,

where bands of fog nestle at the place?mountains and river meet.

And, where the only sound is a steady white water rush.

From the bridge, I watch this solitary figure

and I see me.

I have been her.

She is me.

From the bridge, I look into a mirror.