An Unbroken View of the Whole Region that Surrounds the Observer
The advection fog swoops over the Golden Gate Bridge
hiding its International Orange coat,
disguising solo people edging
the rails. A police officer bikes along
the sidewalk, watching for jumpers.
Blue emergency phones and crisis counseling signs
are bolted on nearly every post, sun faded process yellow boxes
accompanied by another sign that urges
“THERE IS HOPE MAKE THE CALL.”
This is something never shown in a panoramic photograph of the famous strait.
Someone, this invisible person, is always available to talk,
to say hello, to keep you alive, and you’d never see their face.
The phone receivers rotate within their personal schedule,
but there are no breaks for the phone line itself.
They don’t really want to talk to you. They’re just keeping a dispensable life alive.
You don’t witness a suicide jump;
but you know it’s happened before. the four foot tall fence
Maybe you’re standing exactly
where someone leapt over
into the narcotizing bay.
There is a constant halo of courage
and despair vaporizing in the atmosphere.
You are alone in that no one wants
to talk to you, hold your body,
restrain your heart from nosediving
straight into another life. As you clasp onto the barrier
slammed against the wind, atriums and ventricles stammering,
you know they’re there. Waiting. If you’ll make the same mistake,
the right decision, all their unheard voices
pulsing psychotically you are alone you are not alone you are alone
you are not alone,
haunted by the ghosts
of those left behind