Tag Archives: New Yorker

The Bridge

The bridge was long;
Stretched out from the busy City Hall streets,
To the quiet, serene Brooklyn streets.
Below it is the East river
On it is the soles of pedestrians,
And turning of bike tires.

Upon curiosity, I took an expedition
Across this bridge, on a warm late spring morning.
Joining the tourists, the cyclists, the joggers,
I took a mile-long walk across this bridge.
On this walk, I never returned
For I became lost in the beauty of the flowing, glistening river.

As I walked, I observed the bridge;
the long cables extended across to hold the bridge,
the stunning view of lady liberty and the Freedom tower,
Starving artists and their extraordinary drawings,
the highway that ascended on one side and descended on the other,
And the padlocks left by couples that symbolized everlasting love.

In the sky, the sun began to set in the horizon
Orange and red covered the sky,
And the reflection of the red took over the crystal-blue water.
The water carried cool air that slowly became colder,
as the gorgeous orange-red sky faded into darkness,
And very few living souls across the bridge remained.

Somewhere in between the padlocks resembling forever,
and tourists capturing the stunning sights of the bridge
I wound up in between the cables,
A direct view of that river beneath my feet
That became closer gradually
Until my body became in contact with the river

Somewhere along that beautiful bridge,
among the cries of,
“don’t do it,”
my body elevated into the sky
and gradually descended into the river.
No longer was that bridge in view.

Somewhere along that cold night in May,
as darkness consumed the sky,
on that bridge that was admired so greatly,
I took my final breaths.




The Knife

Jagged knife.

Baggy hoodie. 

Night sky.

Near empty car.

Filthy smell. 

Hooded man.

Innocent teen, iPhone in hand.

Messenger bag. 

Home-bound from work, pay day. 

Slash, Slash, knife through flesh. 

Bloodied tip. 

Teen left in tears.

Valuables gone.

Hooded man gone. 

No witness. 


Scars remain.

Culprit moves on, yet teen lives in fear.

Like every New Yorker.

Children, Teens, Adults, Elderly.

Everyone is a victim, everyone is a suspect. 

Innocent lives, all living in fear.

Fear of the knife to their flesh, any moment.