Red Bridge

My childhood is a refuge of
captured memories
when earlier years preyed
on the anxiety of
neighbourhood strife.
Too often
drunken rages led to pain
women
and children
turned inside out by a
returned veteran’s
sadness in booze and
failed dreams.

As we escaped madness
from our domains
we needed some space
anywhere safe.

Our breath of fresh air began
when neighbour Harry
and friends
brought us fishing poles
and a jar of worms.
In the 1950’s we lost ourselves
seeking treasures along the shore
a sanctuary of peace at
Red Bridge.

© Richard L. Provencher