Ongoing Construction

Days after my parents moved into their suburban condo
fresh out of their New York City apartment, they sat retired
on their long-awaited terrace, breathing in green seasoned air.

It didn’t matter that the terrace overlooked their parking lot.
They only saw trees and magenta and red flowering plants
they bought for themselves for their own place in a new calm.

When a spider started to build a web while they drank their coffee,
they felt rich like people who had box seats at Lincoln Center.

My father named the spider Mr. Roebling for the man who built the
Brooklyn Bridge.  They couldn’t take their eyes off him, watching him
for more hours than they would confess to us.  They told us about
symmetry, about what a web looks like in different angles of light. 
They told us about hard work and precision.

They protected that spider’s well-being like they did ours.

The bridges keep coming for all of us.  They told us so.