Lawrence Bridges

Form Follows Function

I'm making a patio but a tree with a knot

stands in the way and can't be removed

due to a city ordinance and my respect for 

a beautiful living thing. Its branches are low, so for

what is supposed to be an expansive terrace with ample tables,

couches, and nooks for eating and talking,

we're caught tripping over limbs and crawling under 

boughs to get around on this "platform over the water.”

I’m for accepting the tree and employing chutes and stairs

that conform to branch-flow, all attached to the tree for stability.  

I’ll hang a bunch of lights beyond it to extend the platform 

over the ocean so people can turn and look back for photos

of a tree with hanging orchids – great for tourists

and wedding parties - and I'll engineer wings

or narrow wooden causeways to get servers

back to the kitchen or diners up to the valet station. 

We'll live with this but how much better would it be

to have used the tree wood for railing and stairs 

for a simple wide terrace facing the sea? Either way, 

if espied from a paddleboard offshore, the terrace will be open, 

a stratum like the sea rocks below - but here again,

form follows function because people like looking

at the ocean from the safety of trees,

enveloping branches hiding their past lives

where they pretend to have once lived as fish.


Lawrence Bridges' poetry has appeared in The New Yorker, Poetry, and The Tampa Review. He has published three volumes of poetry: Horses on Drums, Flip Days, and Brownwood with Red Hen Press.