Although I just visited and went across the Golden Gate Bridge, I didn’t take any pictures of it. You can find some on Google if you’re really interested. I mean, hey, there are enough tourist photos out there, you could probably even find some on Bing.

You could probably find pictures of flowers there, too, I realize, but these are the ones I took. I paid with pride for the picture of the hydrangea, because as I was snooping through his bushes, a guy came out of his house and watched me dash away in embarrassment.

 

My Lightroom subscription just ended, so #nofilter. But speaking of light….

As you may know, the Golden Gate Bridge is the second most-popular place to commit suicide in the world. Near the Bridge, there are several signs offering crisis counseling, with a number to call and a message of hope. It’s sobering to walk on the same road as someone who never walked back down it.

On the way back to my car, I stopped at a bench and wrote some disconnected thoughts that I thought could become a poem at some later date. My mind has since changed, and I prefer the unrefined feel that summed up my experience without any gloss or glamour. 


I try to pick up their thoughts as I walk

As I step on the same ground.

Did they look down at the foam and see themselves,

Driven by by small wind, broken up by any small splash, disappearing slowly forever?

Did they see how the sea stretches on like a blanket

And long to be put to sleep?

Did they look and not see anyone to thank?

I saw a rock in the water,

Often submerged by pushy waves that covered its head.

And, immovable, it shook them off

Immobile, it shrugged and awaited the next wash.

There is a rush in the forbidden question

And there is hope when you keep looking,

So I do not pick flowers when I pass.


I leave a kiss on the bridge

For the people who left it

For those who plunged

Irrevocably down.

I leave one kiss for them all

And the others who follow;

I don’t leave many,

For they are not a mass,

They are each

one.

One word, one sob, one stab,

one foot on a ledge, one in space.

The people are one, so I

Leave one kiss on the bridge.


Thanks for reading, and have a wonderful week.

All rights reserved.

One thought on “San Francisco; for Suicides at GGB

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