The north side of town has less money and darker skins
so those from the south didn’t go there much, but
for her I would cross those tracks that served as a border
There was a farmhouse in Iowa where the young widow
would open her house in hope that He would come,
but could she see beyond her hope that Jesus was her boarder?
Across valleys and mountains, two hundred feet wide
for a thousand miles, trees mowed down, straight, narrow.
Imaginary mapline becomes bulldozed border.
Stop, you’ve gone too far. You must have your papers
all in order and approved by the state. The eagle
flies above the checkpoint, sans border.
We come to play with separateness and division
then stake claim, talk of fences
and fight wars over arbitrary borders
Flowing down from mountains, bringing
life giving water to both banks
The rivers bear the burdens of our borders