Borderlands

I've been thinking a lot about living in the borderlands (continuing on from recent posts).  I think I may be sticking with this theme for a while.  And it relates to the theme of the importance of place that Deena Metzger raised in the workshop I went to this fall.  Today, out of the blue (which is often how poems come to me), I wrote the following:

Once,

feeling untethered

and unraveling,

I found myself

at the edge

of a great void,

toes jutting out

into emptiness,

breath caught

in my chest.

I couldn’t help

but peek over.

All I saw was

nothingness, and

fear gripped my heart

and squeezed.

Slowly and carefully,

I exhaled and

forced my feet to

shuffle back

onto solid ground.

Since that time

I have mostly

stayed safely away

from the edge.

I knitted myself

back together.

But I live now

on the fringes,

not far from

the precipice.

Why do I do this?

Living close to my fear is also

living with the brightest, deepest,

most vibrant colors.

This is where

my people are.

This is where

I have made my home.

This is where

the intensity of living

beats most clearly.

Living in the

borderlands requires

all we have and

all we are.

Where else

should I be?