Vance creek (2/2) As I climbed down from the bridges rusting superstructure I stumbled across a man wondering around underneath, it turned out he grew up here and remembered the bridge when it was still in use, we sat for a moment and shared a beer as he told me stories of his youth. Of the nets that used to run along the side and how they would wait for the trains to come and then jump onto the nets, of how he has photographs of his friends sitting right out at the end of the beams, dangling precariously over the drop. It was a beautiful moment, just two people sharing memories, and as I got up to leave I could see a sadness in his eyes as he looked out at the bridge as it is now with the realisation that that in a few years it would be all but gone, and just like it would be our turn one day, time would wash over it and it would become just a memory.
Pero quedan cosas para la vida larga de esta casa.
Queda Caracas, la playa, este cerro
que ha impreso su forma a nuestro espíritu.
Queda la gente que ya no conocemos en la calle
la despedida, la vida buena a la que hemos renunciado.
Escribiré que nos espera, que la esperamos
Luis Pérez Oramas (1960), Salmos y boleros de la casa
El coro de las voces solitarias, una historia de la poesía venezolana, Rafael Arráiz Lucca, Grupo editorial Eclepsidra, 2da edición, Caracas 2003.