“The Bridge”

I once read that painters that 

workers on the Golden Gate Bridge begin repainting it anew as soon

 as they reach the end 

Yawning arches hungry for coverage from the blind, observant eyes of the clouds

Modern Sisyphus laboring at 746 feet 

Lives lived out on a wire, hanging in the cold bay breeze

Never knowing the meaning of fruition or completion 

Walking across the bridge, the word “Hopeless” burns a hole in the tip of my tongue

“Empty” leaves a caustic taste in my throat

But I do not speak

The ghosts of the fog are primed to listen

Writer Bio: Emily Knoff is a fourth year political science major and the president of Literature and Writing Studies Club. She has been writing creatively for over a decade, but has only begun venturing into writing poetry since she began college. She uses her poetry as a way of expressing herself and relating to the world.