by Armando Garcia-Dávila


They rode through countryside and came to an ancient stone bridge. The illumination of their motorcycle headlights was infinitesimal in the infinite dark night. Tino was lost in his own darkness and thoughts. Maybe Lola’s wrong about living the way you want. Maybe we’re meant to live in a certain way. Tino’s musing was interrupted by tiny flickering lights floating in the night over a field to his right. Hundreds of them hovered over the ground like sparks but without a fire. He looked to the road to keep from veering off. He and Sal began the ascent of the bridge. In the field, a thousand exquisite glistening diamonds dove and darted around each other in the warm and humid night. Fireflies! It’s got to be what they are! Tino slowed, looking from the cobblestone roadway of the bridge to the wondrous sight. He wished Sal would stop so they could get a good look. His wish was more than granted. They rode into a galaxy of them.

It was as if a kind wizard had allowed the two mortals passage into his realm. Hundreds of tiny lights blinked on and off as they flew up and over and around the brothers illuminating their helmets, chests, arms, legs and bikes with a gentle golden aura. Sal slowed to a stop at the crest of the bridge’s arch. Tino pulled alongside and carefully pulled off his helmet so as not to startle and cause them to leave him. The brothers looked at each other, awed by the sparkling procession that bathed them with a soft glow as if welcoming them into their domain. Tino reached out and cupped one in his hands. He separated his thumbs just enough to peer in. The sprite had two small antennae and several legs coming from either side of its oblong body. It sparked on and off from its tail end. It didn’t feel right to hold the elfin being captive. He separated his hands allowing her to join her sisters in their aerial waltz.

The hallowed cluster meandered off in a radiant mass bringing light to the darkness and leaving Tino a gift of serenity he had never felt. But that I could to be one of them, he thought, drifting about in an untroubled world. The brothers sat quietly looking at the orbiting swarm wonder as it ascended into a tree; sequins on a princess’s gown.

Sal lifted his helmet, set it on his head and coasted down the cobblestone bridge. Tino sighed, wiped tears from his eyes and rode to the other side.

by Margaret Raymond


There’s a bridge out by Leupp. It’s not much, just a gangway
of concrete and pilings; it looks like pot metal.
The bridge isn’t high, and not long, so in summer
you cross it like sidewalk from Leupp to not-Leupp
or to where you can see all the buttes.

But in spring, when the buttes are still drying,
their tops loft their frost into cloudlets
like lambs into heaven
and snowwater purls at the bridge like it’s laughing.
It’s stronger than bridges or highways; though playful.
It could break them both up with its stones.

You’re reminded that spring out at Leupp is still winter
in Utah, and skirls to the south in a heartbeat.
Then storms hunker purple and black and spit lightning.
They might swallow the river.   They roar.

But at sunset the sky turns cerise with the cloudlets.
The river is smothered with juice of ripe cherries
that is sieved by the reeds; and the bridge is a goblet
designed for a person to drown in; strong wine.
And the bridge out by Leupp turns bright silver.