A poem about boundaries

I’ve been a poet since I was a little kid. I think children are kind of born poets, what with the way they live moment to moment, and play with words. Case in point, the other day, Annie and I were in Target and she told me that after she checked out the toy section, I could walk around and check out my “curiosities.” As I am to understand it, checking out my curiosities described the way I wander Target and pick up objects that interest, delight and/or confuse me, then inevitably set back on the shelf. The word gave purpose, even whimsy to my haphazard browsing and I had this moment of delight in her and of our time together in this black hole of consumerism.

Anyway, it occurred to me recently that even though I’ve been a poet for decades, I rarely share my poetry. The reasons for this are many and wide-ranging: What if it’s bad? What if I’m being too pretentious? What if nobody understands it? What if I overshare? But really, what if it’s so bad that people are embarrassed on my behalf and are forced to avoid eye contact with me at gatherings out of fear that I will ask them what they thought of the last poem I posted?

And really, all those reasons are one reason: fear. And also, I know myself well enough to know I would rather be forced to wear only the wonkiest items from the Target clearance section for a year then ask anyone what they thought of something I’d written. That’s some straight horror shit I’m not here for.

So, here I go. Facing the fear. Letting loose the words that bring me joy and comfort so that they might float out into the ether like little dandelion seeds.

Here’s one I wrote during poetry month this year but feels right for this moment in our country. I’ll share more as the mood strikes.

“Boundaries”

As I agonize over all the 

crises (personal, familial, societal)

I have failed to glue back together

and gild in gold the therapist 

suggests that next week we discuss

boundaries. And like, of course,

I’m a professional adult who is well

read in all the literature about healthy

relationships. Intellectualizing over boundaries

would be an enriching way to spend the hour.

Bring the tea, and I’ll bring cookies. 

This is textbook. Except that I’m an Okapi, 

I can’t quite figure out what I want

to be so I pace the borderline between

beings. Because, think about it,

the chickweed in my neighbor’s yard 

sneaks between the boards we erected,

anyway. And if you look at it another way, the little flowers

are quite pretty and when boiled and brewed 

are said to fight inflammation.

And air, sand, and wind can worry a hole

through a mountain given enough time,

So what’s the point of all these barriers?

Like, why do we cheer when the Berlin Wall

falls but say good fences make good neighbors?

The therapist doesn’t yet know that this will be

an endless reconstruction project because

sometimes I can’t tell the difference between me

and everybody else. How the hurt and the love 

transfers through cell membranes. We’re all porous 

for a reason, I think. Sure, I’ll say “no,” but still 

delight when my student takes ahold 

of my miniature book earrings and 

discovers, before I do, they contain actual pages. 

I’m aware it’s ridiculous, but then so is humanity

and I’ll fight for mine every day wondering if 

the best offense is really a good de-fence. 

One thought on “A poem about boundaries

  • July 27, 2024 at 11:43 pm
    Permalink

    your poetry is entering my commonplace books to be saved and savored.

    i feel things when i read your words. they prompt a necessary release of tension through tears.

    i look forward to the next time your mood strikes.

Comments are closed.