August 22, 2014

Boundaries. {Poem}


Boundary is the new buzz word,

a spoken way of saying the unspoken,
as if I’m supposed to perk up my ears
listen for all the words surrounding the word:

And I don’t
because I see
an ol’ rusty barbed wire fence,
the kind where every few inches
there are metal thorns
that will poke you,
rip your blue jeans
if you don’t know how to climb over it,

but I do.

I know the secret,
stepping on the bottom wire,
angling my legs in the just the right way,
while bracing my hands on the worn wooden post,
that some sweaty farmer piled into the rich soil
on one of those breezy late summer afternoons
before the snow season came.

I’ve climbed
over so many barbed wire fences
to wander along paths
curved with the contours of rolling hills,
and pause,

sit cross-legged on an old grinding rock,
contemplating those who’ve walked before me
when there were no fences,
no boundaries

because we knew how to communicate
with our hearts,
and speak
from those places that scared us,
as we knew that holding back,
or holding on
only kept one from getting up,
embracing the uncertainty,
and meeting the curiosity
in climbing
over the barb wired fence
that’s wrapped around our hearts.


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Editor: Travis May

Image: Pixoto

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