Girders form Ks like prehistoric ribs
We drive inside the belly of a whale
Rising to the chorus of back-seat kids
Reciting the alphabet as their short lives
Race through memories to get to faith
To get to the other side
A favorite part a sound a moment
After Zee they shout K K K K K
While a single steel letter rushes past
Repeats until we emerge from the truss
Still on the span until we’re not
Broken circle cracked open with a hard K
Hard as in key or chasm or the cry of tin
Pylon anchorage center stay
Commit this passage to memory:
The strength of a triangle
Lies in its resiliency
When the center does not hold
Like a mandala washed away
Gregg Wilhelm is a Baltimore-based writer coping with the physical, metaphorical, and artistic loss of the Francis Scott Key Bridge.
JMWW 