Borders
previously thought to be
mostly symbolic
are hardening.
See them from above and
you might begin to believe
in them, they seem so solid —
fences, towers, narrow war zones —
but crossings still happen:
tunneling under, vaulting
across, cutting through
the wire.
Something there is
that doesn’t love a wall?
Yes.
Good fences make good neighbors?
No —
all fences make neighbors
out of family, and we long
for family.
Every frontier ever
was born of a longing for a real home
unlike the one left behind.
Maybe we’d create one,
maybe we’d meet one — maybe
we’d kill for one.
Every one of us who’s ever sought
one
cuts through something to find
one. Immigrants,
settlers, etc.; they made a home,
someone drew a line,
blacked it up on a map, and
now they build it up on land and sea —
what in history
could ever have made them believe
it would work this time?

December 28th, 2010 at 4:24 am
I once met a British fellow from Sheffield (“it’s halfway to Scotland,” he proceeded to explain) named Simon, who said “there’s probably walls somewhere”.. he must’ve been a poet (perhaps Irish?), in another life..
December 28th, 2010 at 4:31 am
Yup, always a wall somewhere…and they always get breached eventually.
I’m looking forward to reading your blog when I get more concentrated time to focus on it…it looked interesting.