The Valley

Working on a piece about the valley. Here's my brainstorm so far.

Standing here along the river -
I want to jump
Without thinking into the green
muddy water.
My white feet, clean and smooth,
stand firmly at the bank.

This border does not belong to me.
This border belongs to the
ones who live in fear
of being plucked
(roots and all)
to not survive
on the other side.

This border belongs to the hands
that reach into her dusty earth -
the bent backs and the browning necks
burnt and sweaty.

This border belongs to the feet
rough and dusty, the people
with labored sighs.

This border belongs to those
who aren't afraid
of her muddy green waters,
the spines of a nopal,
the burn of the comal.

This border belongs to those
with roots like mesquites, bending
in the wind on either side
of the Rio Grande - roots
that dig deep into the soil
roots that come back
even when plucked
and tossed aside.

No, this valley does not belong to me
Here - standing and afraid
to baptize myself in her muddy waters.


  1. Suicide can be perceived as the last stupid act of a desperate person, among other interpretations, but in my opinion, it is in-fact, a huge act of bravery. Perspectives should be thought through, and this poem examples this. If you look out into the world, there 'is' always someone suffering more than yourself. This 'border' does get crossed, though, and some people return to tell the tale (failed serious attempts). A good poem. I particularly like the metaphors and analogies - great poetic writing tools. Take care. Bye.

  2. Thank you for your interpretation! It really helps me to see how others understand my work.


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