fences dos

boundaries have been a huge theme in my life lately - osmosis was needed but leads to weakness, trees need bark to stand as tall and stretch both ways, to the wisdom of balance between sun and ground.

Fences

We both own the fence that stands between us--
some days tall planks that break up the horizon line,
splinters stuck in my soft feet and fingers
some days barbed wire, sharp confines
and skinny sticks I helped my father plant

and when the land falls away around me
and I'm not floating but falling, that fence
stands upright and I can never
see your face, I can never
find the gate, can't unlatch the limbs
that separate
from safety

if it were me I'd tear this aging wood
from the earth's heart, plant orange trees
and grape vines to bring everyone
out of their houses, to end this self-imposed
dichotomy, to start great conversation
and end the hunger
we constantly live with

but isolation is a two way choice--
how would we divvy up this fruit,
how do I know when empty space is all
that keeps you coming back to me-—darling if it
were my choice, we'd build a bonfire
and hold hands dancing, but
it never is. What lies between us is
a product of two wants, twin necessities
in the form of sturdy posts and
deep, deep holes that kill my back in digging.

Without a fence the roses would spread and
hummingbirds would sing in the morning and
I wouldn't miss you daily. Shoulds and wants cross
over until a stockade of fingers and thorns keep
us away, and for now trees grow tall and
pollen doesn't drift over barren fields,
and someday when the land is older,
the house paid off our hearts unlatched
the planks will wear away as something
bright passes between us, builds
something better in its wake