• Write a “Puente” poem; • The middle stanza should contain the title of a song; • You can add more words to the middle stanza if you wish.
The form has three stanzas with the first and third having an equal number of lines and the middle stanza having only one line which acts as a bridge (puente) between the first and third stanza. The first and third stanzas convey a related but different element or feeling, as though they were two adjacent territories. The number of lines in the first and third stanza is the writer’s choice as is the choice of whether to write it in free verse or rhyme.
The center line is delineated by a tilde (~) and has ‘double duty’. It functions as the ending for the last line of the first stanza AND as the beginning for the first line of the third stanza. It shares ownership with these two lines and consequently bridges the first and third stanzas.
“i’m sorry, i couldn’t hear any heartbeat,” my doctor revealed after just a few minutes of examining my supposed baby bump. my mind went crazy, and my heart beat the fastest and loudest beat ever. i wanted to cry, but there were no tears. i wanted to shout and curse the universe. still, no sounds were coming out. my doctor knew i was on the brink of losing my composure, so she asked me to sit down and gave me a glass of water. “stay calm,” she said.
waiting for you as i held my tears was the most traumatic part of hearing the news. i could see myself heading in directions only God knows where. i wanted to run away, away from the reality that i would never get to hold in my arms the baby i so wanted to have. “you quietly came into our world, silently, and you stayed shortly. but know that you take up the most room in our hearts.” i whispered.
“i’m here for you, and i don’t care if you need to cry all day long i will stay with you,” you said while i was sobbing.
the dark underground parking area was our sole witness to how we grieve at the loss of another angel. we were both inconsolable, as God knows how much we wanted the child. but at least we have each other.
i looked at you, holding on to your composure, and you began to cry. the kind of cry i’ve never witnessed from you my whole life. the type of cry only a father could upon losing a child he never gets to hold.
i wonder how one mistake could end one great thing, such as love.
it was a bit gloomy, though the sun was up. i could hear the honking of the cars from where i was. i could smell my neighbor baking fresh bread. there was chaos around; a nanny was heard screaming and running after the baby she was paid to take care of and the intercom in each unit was ringing loudly. at some point, i could hear myself screaming, “answer that damn intercom,” ” give the baby something sweet to eat so she will stop crying and running.”
oh, well, i didn’t scream it out loud, though. i’m not like that. i’m used to just keeping things to myself.
so when you came ranting about me not telling you what happened the other day, i shrugged my shoulders. it was something i didn’t want to tell. well, for one, it wasn’t as if it would change the course of time or affect the country’s economic situation (just kidding, though).
seriously, i was imitating you, what you do and how you do things; you don’t tell me, you don’t talk to me. you always let things happen and allow me to find it out myself, and when i do, i have no right to even question you; i need to understand the situation.
oh, well, what now? looks like we are even. at least you know how i feel about not knowing things and being blindsided all the time.
and for the record, i tried to understand you with all humility. i wouldn’t say i liked the thought, i was not too fond of the situation, and i hated the idea, but never was there a time that i assassinated your character by lambasting you on a personal “below the belt” level.
but you did to me. you said things beyond my imagination. you accused stuff beyond my comprehension. and most importantly, you said, “we’re done, i am cutting off my ties with you.”
i must say, i wasn’t surprised at all. you did that many times. not once, not twice, not thrice, many times. i couldn’t keep track anymore.
and despite me not being surprised, i was hurt.
i know my mistake, and i am sorry. but it does not involve me being a slut, as you call it.
i stopped arguing and stopped explaining.
one thing i’ve realized, though, is the love you call infinite or limitless ends the moment i make a mistake.
the taste of wine for the first time in my mouth is like thousands of stinging bees occupying every inch of my salivating tongue in the same way how the taste of your love in my heart, in my soul left me wondrous, breathless, speechless, hopeful, blessed, grateful drunk and intoxicated.