It’s missing.

Like, completely gone. 

As in, used to be there for 47 years and 3 days, and now isn’t. 

In fact, it’s Google-Maps-official now. The Key Bridge doesn’t exist.

Baltmore’s quirky. Our circle has corners. And our southeast part is absent.

Two roads. Two dead ends. 

There’s just Patapsco Blue. Hiding Mangled Grey.

But metal can be replaced. And it will. Eventually.

After the symptomatic posturing and tired arguing of those in chambers an hour down the road, the span will rise.

O, say, can you see it? Not yet. But we will. 

But the lives, that’s another thing. 

Miguel. Dorlian. Alejandro. Maynor. Jose. 

Men filling holes to save our cars.

Now, gone. 

Roads and positions can be refilled. 

But humans can’t be.

They’re lost. 

And we lost. Neighbors.

I’m afraid that’s what’s often missing in our daily reprise.

Consideration of the greatest unifier. Our humanness.

Our breath. Our being. The shared intrinsic qualifiers of worth.

Predictably, Baltimore’s being replaced. More news. Something else. This just in.

And this just in. We argue about the future. We live the present. We forget the past.  

The gone and the over, gone and over.

Fade to black.

But as four families still wait for a presumed and still dreaded word, and adjust to empty chairs, and grieve without closure, may we count. Our blessings. 

Not the stuff of life. But the stuff with skin on. 

The kind we can know. And value. And love.

All eight billion.