Bridges

By Donna Nongkhlaw

The ground beneath my feet

concealed

revealing soot and tar

ashes fall like snow

the smoke fills my lungs

and I choked

not so much from the ash

not so much from the smoke

I choked on apathy

I choked on memories

I choked on souvenirs

I have carried nails and boards

I have struck the hammer hard

but sometimes

sometimes some bridges burn

beyond recognition

and I know

should I ever go back

I'll be reduced into cinder.

By Donna Nongkhlaw