We are tribal. In fact, we inhabit many tribes -- a shifting landscape of tribes -- across our lifetime. This is all as it is and as it should be.
The problems come at the borders between tribal areas. Who marks them? How are they delineated? How are they determined? Who decides their exact path?
Regardless of who lays the line, the closer one lives to a border, the more tolerant of others one must become.
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Evanescence
“When someone is lost, everything is a sign.” – Eudora Welty, “The Wide Net.”
The Queen-Anne’s lace pearls at the border and hems
All Nature in, the scent of dark vanilla lifts
The veil, baroque curlicues quail, green stems
Absorb the sun, as someone’s shadow shifts.
Who was she there, tomatoes red, roses
Instead of tulips, living in a dentist’s house
According to rules family imposes,
Pinned to a clothes line like a flapping blouse.
Who is to say who is one or another?
Wind shears, lightning streaks into the basement,
All duck for cover, hugging one another,
United beneath split sandstone casement.
The past resolves what makes borders divide
To find myself back on the other side.
[Disposable Sonnet August 18, 2010]
Dr. Mike
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