Recently, I have been thinking a lot about frontiers. The word has had considerable influence in our world, throughout history and today. Frontiers have been established, pushed, crossed, fought over, celebrated. In today's climate, frontiers are central to the discourse of immigration, of terrorism, of international law. I thought it would be interesting to explore this phenomenon through poetry, as it has such a complex history.

Frontier

Oddly enough, business conducted in circles

eventually turns into a line.

It stretches across in ripples

and shades—one catching up

to the other.

And even then the line circles

a sphere.

A front. A frontier.

Imaginary, really.

One day bumps into another

as the sun rises and falls.

Nous sommes le pont.

But who’s to decide? Where the line will

begin. Again and again.

As the sun rises and falls.

I looked up into the sky and imagined

I saw the caps of circles

sphering across it.

And I saw the blue waving at the sun

as it sailed away

on the winds of another day.

We are the bridge.

Mais c’est qui qui décide?