is wrapped in steel wire.Cables of the Brooklyn Bridgeare the large, thuggish relativesof their skinny cousins inside my piano. These delicate threads will never seethe gulls circling traffic jamsover white waves in the harbor, never hear the honking hornsof cabbies; they witness onlythe tentative first notes of Bach, the intimate touch of Chopin. The Bridge, who watches Lady Libertydaily, holds hands with a citythat smells of money … Continue reading All My Wonder by Donna Pucciani