That Bridge

Passerelle Solférino
Originally uploaded by Hugo
(looking for his pink elephant).

She has a strange attraction to that bridge.

I used to think it was her fondness for
the architecture. She is that kind of bookish girl.

In the mornings, I would call
and let the phone ring ten times,
just like my mother told me.

Call her cell phone, leave a message, fume.
Stomp off to work. Stop for coffee.

The barista says she hasn't been around for several days.

Just last year, we sat stoned and lovely in her room.
She played Janis Joplin on her guitar.
I raved about the Talking Heads.
She ran her wool-socked foot gently up my calf.
I almost died with the sheer joy of the moment.

She showed me her favorite photograph
of that bridge.

Yesterday, I finally went down there to see what
the fuss was all about.

and now I understand.

It's not the bridge,
but who is waiting
under it.

This text was also inspired by
the collective photos of begin the age of love.