Without Borders

Without Borders

I am back
from a few days
of work and play
in Los Angeles.

It was a wonderful trip,
filled
with terrific friends
and experiences,
but still
I was relieved
to be home
on the Salish Sea;
the historical common name
for the watery
geologically gem-laden
environment
spawning the archipelago
that drizzles itself
across the U.S.
and lower B.C.

I am beginning
to wonder
if any stray parts
of me
might have lived
here
in a previous existence.

What was I?
Human?
Bald eagle?
Sea slug?

From the very day
I moved here,
it has felt oddly
as though this has been
home
to me
for many years.

As close to
Los Angeles
as I had become
in twenty-four
action-packed years—
not a pang
held my heart
for even a moment
upon my return
to that city.

And yet each time
my ferry
or light plane
lands
on San Juan Island—
the pang arrives
in the form
or joy
and comfort.

Two days before
I left for California,
I had ferried
to and from British Columbia’s
Salt Spring Island;
a neighbor
to the northwest
just across the border—
and the reason
I ended up living on
San Juan Island.

The day was cool
and foggy,
and presented
a fresh planet of visuals
to me
as I crossed
from one side
of the boundary waters
to the other.

Obscured
by a haunting marine layer
and coyly lit
by flecks of sunlight,
the islands
and the sea
were simultaneously
new and familiar;
just like
my life here.

Staring out
across a random border,
I wondered whether
this lone sailor
might have had similar
thoughts
as his vessel passed
effortlessly between
two worlds.

Alex Shapiro July 2007