Just going to read a few more short ones,
and maybe there will be time for a love
poem in the spirit of this residency through which I
might be able to embarrass my husband in public.
But in the meantime, let's just stay tuned.
In the meantime, this is one that's
called, Things That Already Go Past Borders.
There's a section of poems in this book that
are all trying to imagine better worlds, and it was really hard.
And so I found myself really clinging to whatever
little apertures I could, little hints of other possibilities.
So this is just one that's a list of things that already
go past borders: Trade deals.
Pathogens.
Specific passports.
Particular skill sets.
Vegetables.
Car parts.
Streaming rights.
Seasonal workers.
Some insects.
Certain birds.
Religion.
Dialect.
Music at the right volume.
Headlights.
Human remains.
Wireless signals.
All manner of money.
Of memory.
People in trucks.
On trains.
On foot.
In line.
In lines.
Charging checkpoints.
Wading waist-deep through rivers.
Clinging to rafts.
Or yawning their way through customs.
Sisters separated for decades, whose faces
are as foreign to each other as the faces of the dead.
Seeds.
Drones.
Prisoners on planes.
Dictators in motorcades.
Orders to kill.
And longing.
Yes, this.
Most of all.
The longing of families.
And the longing of storms.
[APPLAUSE]