I remember my summer of bridges –
I walked across every bridge in town,
over the creek, over the river.
It was a new hobby.  My older sister, Amy –
my best friend – had just married and 
moved a thousand miles away.
I felt abandoned.
I was restless, so I walked
across old iron bridges, concrete bridges,
a suspension bridge and a railroad bridge. 
On trips, Dad stopped so I could 
cross an old covered bridge,
and the drawbridge on the C&D Canal.
Dad cheered me on; Mother was appalled.
I never told them about the railroad bridge.
I think Dad understood, but Mother – didn’t she miss Amy?
I once asked if she wanted to walk with me, but she declined.
She was formal, she was distant, and
though she thawed a little as she aged,
we were never close.
	There are bridges to walk across
	and bridges you have to build.