Border Stater by Jinny Batterson
(Initial version written to my brother at his birthday–an attempt in the heat of a political season to find some mutual ground.)
It’s somewhat uncomfortable here,
hanging by my heels above this hillside threshing platform.
The harvest is almost in.
All that remains on the plain spread below me
are scattered stalks of overripe rhetoric.
I was raised in a border state–
part Northern, part Southern, part Western, part Eastern.
At home everywhere and nowhere.
I’ve lived in city, suburb, and countryside.
In some things I’m wealthy, in others, poor.
The ability to see from this quirky vantage point
multiple sides of most issues is both blessing and curse.
I avoid panic, knowing that sooner or later
I’ll disentangle myself and again stand upright.
As this cycle nears fruition,
I have confidence that earth will keep its balance,
faith that our human presence will endure,
and hope that one day
we will tend our mutual gardens together in peace.