EDGEHILL ON THE BRIDGE.

A MAN CROSSES THE WHERE A GIRL DROWNED.

Edgehill makes his way across the bridge.
He stops, peers over the side into the water.
A drowning took place here once, some girl
He knew, some untold troubles led her to her
Watery grave. He stands now where she once
Stood, the same area of wall, beneath a patch
Of sky, thoughts out on a limb, legs over the edge
And then the jump with arms out to the side as
If crucified in air. He ought to have spoken to her,
Have delved deeper into her problems, but he
Didn’t, he just sat and stared and let her words
Flow over and around him like night’s chill wind.
He can only imagine how she may have felt out
Here on the bridge out on a limb, seeking death,
An end. Was the wind chilly that night? Was she
Dressed in sufficient clothes to keep out chill?
What were her last thoughts, her final sight?
He stares out at the river’s flow, the water
Unforgiving in its take and kill. People pass him
By behind his back, their world unaffected by
The death of one, their minds on other matters
Close to home: mortgages, the kids, the wife,
The job, the passing of time. He stands now and
Looks where she jumped, the water flowing fast
Beneath the bridge, the murky depths unknown
To him. Had she thought of him before she jumped?
Had she thought that some might see, jump in
And save from the watery grave? Edgehill looks
Around, takes in the length of bridge, the depth
Of fall, the show of sky. The bridge was empty then,
They say, no one to see her jump, drown or die.