Borders and Boundaries

Borders and boundaries, a hedge, a wall.
The snail advantage is a home away from
home. When I’m nervous I carry a change
of underwear along with a toothbrush.
              When you leave a hometown,
you are uprooted. In kindergarten my teacher
labeled every piece of furniture. We
children had already been labeled with
place of origin.
           Salt over a shoulder to chase away
the bad luck that threatens to follow you
to a new home – not that it did Lot’s wife
any good.
              For a while driftwood sculptures
populated the salt flats – open to tidal
shifts.









Carol Dorf has two chapbooks available, Some Years Ask, (Moria Press) and Theory Headed Dragon, (Finishing Line Press.) Her poetry appears in Bodega, E-ratio, Great Weather For Media, About Place, Scientific American, and others. She is poetry editor of Talking Writing and teaches mathematics in Berkeley.

See more of her work in Special 50/50 Issue