Jennifer Kite-Powell
Published in
2 min readDec 10, 2023


Ode to that little bridge in the Dutch light

Tonight, the light looks like you.

Photo by The Phope on Unsplash

I remember because it was the first time we met on that bridge in that park in Rotterdam.

What was the name?

I can’t remember.

I can still see your face in that famous sinking Dutch light.

It changes the color of everything.

That light.

Draped around you like the cape of the Scarlet Pimperenel as you talked about your Rugby days with the nostalgia of an old man looking back on his life at the end of his days.

You smelled like cigarettes and Terre d’Hermes mixed with the briney, dark waters of the Rotterdam Harbor.

The fading sunlight on that little bridge in the park I can’t remember changed your face.

The warmly intense Dutch light magnified your geometric jaw softened by one insistent dimple sitting proudly where it needed to be.

I remember because you leaned in to whisper in my ear.

I could see the Dutch light settling between our faces, dividing you from me.

So close.

The light dimmed a little.

It downshifted into a more serious shade of orange and purple.



Jennifer Kite-Powell

Speculative poet, flash fiction writer, author, podcaster & Forbes senior contributor. Read my work here, on substack or at