The Bridge in Summer
by Eliana Franklin
I come to watch the warpaint shiners swim—
minnows with red-tinged fins tunnel
through a biting current. Downstream, children
swing off a rope, trusting the river
to break their fall. It’s hard to have so much faith—
I pause before the cable-bridge, wondering
if I should cross this chasm of stones.
I can feel the weight of my body—
humidity lingers on my skin, a reminder
of days when school was out
and I spent hours in my room, brushing rough canvas
while the house filled with whispers.
I had few expectations then—only that I might rupture
like a dam. I painted my dreams
in watercolor, closed my eyes, listened to my breath,
at first unsteady. I understand the balance
underwater, where the fish must know
how to get home, to safety.
At the suspension bridge, my hands scrape wire—
I find my footing on wood that trembles.
I am learning to carry my heaviness—
knowing, somehow, the bridge will hold.
This poem first appeared in The Greensboro Review's Fall 2025 issue (Number 118).