I 

My borderland(1) is a plane.

It’s the tiny vessel of compressed air 

that connects the cross-country gap between myselves. 

From me to the version of myself that I had Settled into.

The version of myself that finds comfort in continuity and repetition. 

The version of myself that had to sing an alma mater(2)

that praised the sunny hills of the plantation which housed our school grounds.  

The version of myself that guiltily seals off part of my identity that is nothing but ridiculed by my parents and people around town

(Because haven't you heard, we can’t say gay(3)?)

She’s the version of myself that leaves no space for me. 

It’s too hot at Home, 

so the shift happens as I take off my jacket before I get off the plane.

Like wax in a lava lamp, the parts of myself swirl, separate, and conform to the temperatures around them. 

I  adjust my seat. 

I prepare for landing. 

I Settle. 

How ironic that when the layers of hoodie and jacket and hat come off,

the more covered up I feel. 

 
(1) A reference to Gloria Azaldua’s “La Frontera.” My poem was written as an exemplar for a final 9th grade assessment! It was awesome and also terrifying to share with my students.
(2) Maclay School is a private, PreK-12 (SHEESH) conservative, white-flight school……... The beginning of our alma mater read “Amid plantations, sunny hills…” ……much to unpack here.  
(3) HB1557; HB 7; Individual Freedom Act

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II 

My borderland is a dance studio, filled with mirrors and light.

Volume up and noise down, 

because the space to actually feel something presents itself for once. 

Sometimes I sink into that feeling a little too long and– 

This is a version of happy. 

I’m here and I love it, I’m here and it works, I’m here and I create. 

From two to twenty two I’ve lived and loved and learned within these walls

and crafted a truer version of myself. 

Because here no one compares me to my brother or sister (except now) for the torch has been passed(4)  from student to teacher (and that teacher is now a guest). 

The moves in my mind have never translated so easy 

and the dancer version of me wins awards for her choreography.

And you’ve gotta give credit where credit’s due, so

polished mirrors helped smear the hue of white 

that had been cast over my life. 

The Settled version starts to shake. 

She dissipates like the salt Dad pours in the pool once a month.

The water ripples and suddenly I can see in the reflection 

the life they wish I wanted. 

In this version I get to see my family every day

and in this version my dog gets a BIG backyard. 

But in this version, I am not wholly me.

The speakers bust and the music skips. 

The crack(5)  in that middle panel of mirror refracts the echoing image of me standing there –  Staring –

Wondering if these four walls are really all I was made for.  

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(4) My niece now attends this dance studio, and most dancers now know my brother and sister (who are teachers in the area), and not me. Meep.
(5) A real crack. I think it’s been there since I was 8 stg

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III

My borderland is a sinkhole(6). 

It has the capability of swallowing me whole if I let it. 

I think pheeeewwww I made it out, but did I really? 

Because I’ve been Home more times this year than I've been to Mt. Rainier 

and I’ve never had so many people that I love smushed into the same room at once. 

And if I stand here for too long, the sinkhole will surely swallow me up.

But not the real me, the Settled me. 

Who can’t say no

Who can’t stand up

Who can’t take a joke

Who doesn’t believe in herself 

Who hides who she is

Who hates who she becomes

And who doesn’t know what it means to live. 

 

So I pull myself together and pull myself out because I will not Settle. 

 

Because I wouldn’t have learned when to say no if she never said yes

And I wouldn’t be someone 

Who can stand up for what I believe in if she was never pushed down 

And I wouldn’t be someone 

with smile lines from joking too much,

Who believes in myself and the people around me

And embraces the truth and loves my reality 

And teaches to learn IF

She didn’t know what it was like to miss out.

The Settled me puts the little parts of herself 

that didn’t fit into a tiny box.

With a big, pretty-on-the-outside-messed-up-on-the-inside bow.

That ends up in a sinkhole. 

But I still go Home 

and I still love the sea 

and I still find peace in the canopy trees(7) that cover Meridian Road.

Because it’s true when they say that All Roads Lead to Palace or Petoskey’s(8) or wherever and whoever it is I am that day. 

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(6) Sinkholes are a part of the wild ride of FL natural disasters. One time, a sinkhole the size of a car opened up in front of my driveway!

(7) Some of the most beautiful trees and roads of all time. Seriously. Look them up.
(8) A popular slogan for my hometown / college hangout.

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IV

My borderland is my very first apartment. 

Salmon bay and orange sunsets and trees that stay green all year long. 

The big one outside my window reminds me of the snowglobe 

we placed on the mantle in winter.

But here, no one knows me and here, word won’t spread(9), and here,  I don’t feel trapped but free instead to tear down the walls between myselves 

that were crafted brick by brick to survive a hurricane. 

But on my shelf are moments of realization that 

this is where I’m made for.

Here’s me on a beach with mountains in the background, can you believe it?

Here’s me and Mi(10) on a Summit Saturday and

there is so much to wonder about and wander through so why can’t I help but get choked up every time I see an orange on a license plate(11)? 

The lines on my arm is a favorite place to be and 

suddenly my mom is right and I did move too far because – didn’t I see the video of Maggie’s first steps?  

Family Feasts had turned into Family Facetimes.

But after I shut the computer and the call ends I remember that all I have to do is go outside and *snap*

This grass isn’t greener literally but metaphorically for sure.

This is the thing I cannot give up. 

My borders shifted and I moved down the street. 

And the four year olds are suddenly fourteen and I have loved absolutely every moment in between. 
Because here, I’ve never once felt like I needed to be someone other than myself. 
 

(9) As this was written in May of 2024, it felt a little ironic to write how rumors do not spread about me here. And to clear it up– in case you didn’t know, yes– I really did get a chair thrown at me…by an adult….lol
(10) A nickname for my dog, Mila
(11) A classic Florida license plate

 

 

 

V

My Borderland is my body.

The outside may change but that’s good since so do I.

My scars simply show what I’ve endured and how I’ve been thrown, but if dance taught me anything it’s that I can find my balance. 

Even when I’m sore and tired and sweaty, 

even when life’s gray and crowded and heavy(12), 

even when I feel the crushing weight of expectations and judgment and other people’s —

 

[Lady Grey is the only cup of tea(13) I’ve ever asked for…

Poked and prodded, I didn’t want that, but you’re telling me your god did?]

 

My body carries my soul.  

She jumps and flips and climbs and bends and dances around the hallways, scarcely sitting down.  

With a stitch in my side but still wind in my lungs, my body acts as my home. 

She’s on the go and stretches to grow and house all of these parts of myself that are still in there somewhere. 

At least – they better be – because they are all me. And I need that Settled version for conversations during the Holidays, while I let this version rest(14). 

(12) Is this starting to feel like Dr. Suess to anyone else? Just me?
(13) The type of tea I almost exclusively drink. Also, a reference to a video understanding consent. 
(14) If you made it this far you get a star. Come see me (room 208) for your sticker.