Donna Kate Rushin's "The Bridge Poem" does appeal to me. But I'm not sure if it appeals to me in the right way. I smile at the line "Sick of being the sole Black friend to 34 individual white people." When I was in grade school, there might have been, at most, two black kids out of over 300 in grades K through 8. And they weren't in my grade and they didn't stay for more than a year or two. My high school was better. But that image sticks out. It's like most media, most television. One minority, no more, for every 50 white people. An exaggeration, perhaps, but also a truth.
I am sickRushin feels the burden of being a bridge for others. A bridge walked upon and used without regard to its feelings. As if she were an object, a use-thing, rather than a person who has other ways to use that power of translation. Interesting how she has power, this power to bridge, and, perhaps out of fear, that power makes others try to reduce her to that bridge object.
Of having to remind you
Before you suffocate
Your own fool self