Graigue Bridge – Clifton Redmond

Every morning
I cross that spectacle of craft,
never basking in its stoic structure,

its sloped back
an otter’s,

over water.
The plaque that probably states
the year of its completion,

its dedication.
But in my hurry
I’ve never read the scribed tribute

always needing to be here
or there
never looking back.

when I’m sitting alone

I wonder whose name
is forever
etched into the stone.

And what made him matter?
Did he cut the thousands of bricks?
Dig the foundations in the rapids?

Perhaps he eased the mortar with his trowel
gently caressing each and every stone.
But whatever way his noble name found this bridge

I cannot question its beauty,
its standing,
its four arches of wonder

where swans pass through,
silent water crested decorations
cavers’ beneath it disappearing,

white noiseless apparitions.
But I never have the time

to appreciate it,
never stopping,
never looking back.

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