Page 41 - The Bridge Vol 17_pgs

VOLume 17

Companion

Abbey Branco

I noticed it one morning,
hiding at the foot of my bed,
a gentle hum vibrating the quilt sheets tucked around my ankles.

Wispy body and bared teeth,
a creature, round and filled with smoke, licking at my eyes in the early mornings.

I didn’t know it then, but for twelve hours I grew you, fostered and festered you. At fifteen, I
made something appear that many don’t have until they’re older.

My therapists call it loss. I call it baggage.

It has grown over the years. Garnered momentum in a college rejection letter, a shaky breakup.
My body refusing to act as it should.

For five years I have called you my own. Kept you behind my legs and watched as you closed
my lips and tore out my throat; took away my speech because it’s easier to be quiet when all
you have to say is sadness.

They say losing a parent is like losing a part of you.

But I think I gained something that day. Something I’ll never really let go of. Something that
keeps me human.

Local anesthesia

mei fung elizabeth chan bridge
award
aquatint, dry point, etching, engraving, mezzotint, watercolor with
chine-collé gampi on Hahnemühle paper

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