SOLILOQUY UNDER THE BRIDGE

 alwaysondarun

 

 

 

 

 

 

A lot of iron and brick to take in. Feels like I am back in some age where buildings are ruling the world. Buildings and bridges. Iron and brick. And water. Of course: the East River, my love.

What can be said about the East River? I tossed a ring into it, that had ‘thee’ inscribed on the inside.

I caught a bottle on the overpass that was meant to hit my head.

I wrote a play about someone with an obsession for the cold dark water of it. The river, and the Bridge. The Manhattan Bridge.

Now I live practically under it. I can see the bare belly bottoms of the trains. I live to their rhythm. I sleep to their wavelike occurance. In sleep, the sound of the ocean or a train is the same. In my sleep I anticipate the next train. And the next, and the next, until I arrive in the morning. As if I took a long trip, somewhere in Europe, and the train pulls into the station at 6am, all steamy and smelling of metal and stale coffee and old padded seats. Every night I travel around the world. Every morning I wake up in the same bed. During the day the trains punctuate my thoughts. Give me pause to think. Like a smoker a cigarette, I have my train.

 

 

yours, always

 

 

 ©Claire Fleury