Swan
Dive
© 2008 Mel Hicks
Published
in r.kv.r.y. quarterly literary journal,
spring 2008 vol. iii no. 3
He who learns must suffer.
And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget falls drop by
drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our
will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God. –
Aeschylus
Behind Lea, the
bridge’s cables flicker in the sun’s fading light like the
golden strings of a solitary harp. She balances herself
atop the guardrail, feels the steady shudder of tires
crossing the span. The barbed face of the concrete pierces
the soles of her feet. Yet, she stands firm. She has chosen
this side of the Sunshine Skyway because she can see the
old bridge far below, that crumbling remnant whose severed
ends reach out
across the bay in a futile attempt at embrace.
From
this height--two hundred feet up--Lea is alone above the
world, the sky a boundless blue sail. A gust of wind brings
fresh ocean air, wiping away the oily residue of exhaust
fumes, delivering with it the ephemeral promise of flight.
Lea steadies herself for the leap. [read more]
