The Bridge

for Gauri Govil (1995-1997)

As we walk I cannot stop picturing
her tiny body falling through the air.
Or her father’s rushing arms, his face as he watches
wind-burned legs slip quick between red steel.

As we walk I cannot stop wondering
what a two-year-old child is like.
Did her brain recognize 170 feet of fall?

Did she have time to shout her last words
into ears of grief-stricken tourists or did she drop silently,
feeling half-thrill inside her fragile chest?

Oh, the brave and mighty jumpers…
Did their fingers grasp at hair sticking to mouths as pink as hers?
Did they regret spinning as their choice?

Oh, the sharp and severe ground…
Do the rocks know what they gained that day?

By Lisa Grande Maruna