Student Publishing Program ::

Rie Maeda

Billy Goat's Bridge

The lake has frozen,
Plates of ice shift along the surface,
Long weeds stick up through the cracks,
Struggling to make you acknowledge their existence.

The bridge across is rickety now,
The planks weathered with pounding feet,
The rusty nails spinning in their loose fittings,
They have aged,
Just like the 3 little girls who used to run across.

Shrieking and giggling in the summer air,
We’d sprint, the boards rattling beneath our feet,
Feeling brave to go over that shallow water,
Sparkling in the sun.

Mosquito bugs skated along the surface,
We’d follow their paths,
Getting dizzy in the process.
We’d throw rocks and stones,
Water splashing high in the air in our competition for the farthest.

All the while, we’d shout that this was Billy Goat’s bridge,
He lived under it,
Ready to attack if one of us fell.
None of us ever did.

My parents would wait at the end near the muddy bank,
Thinking each time we reached the end, we’d hop off onto land,
But every time we’d grin and turn back around,
Ready to face Billy Goat’s wrath again and again.

[TABLE OF CONTENTS, LHS CLASS OF 2012 EDITION]