But if the point is to graft 
hope onto a broken bridge, 
then the ribbon of velour 
photographs that hang 
from the rain-pocked railings 
will not do. Nor will the fading 
faces that look out, chemical 
artifacts of absolute memories. 

No amount of ceremony will do, 
nor paint nor polish. 

Deep inside the planks, where the cracks 
are crevices, history smolders, and only 
prayer can absolve: 
prayer, a candle, 
and a cup of warm soup. 

Bio: Deanna Benjamin