It is the board in the fence,
shifted only slightly to the right,
opening a breach in your understanding
of the neighbor—
and making you wonder which way they lean.
Is it safe to bring a hammer and a nail,
or would that cross the line itself,
that invisible border saying, without words,
where your limits lie,
what may be carried in your hands,
or whether a weapon still counts as speech?
Because you might expose what is already
plain,
and then they would have to set it right—
straighten the board by making a hammer of you,
in their grim reckoning,
and leave you on the fence, a warning to whoever forgets where they do not belong.
Published by
C. S. De Dona
Author, Poet, Photographer, domestic violence survivor, and naturalized immigrant, Cornelia is currently an Arts and Letters member of The Southwest Florida Branch of The National League Of American Pen Women.
Cornelia lived in Kaneohe, Hawaii, for thirty-six years. Also, seven years in the Mid-Hudson Valley of New York. She now resides in North Fort Myers, Florida.
Her poems and photography are published in print, online, and in Rain Bird, a literary and art journal of the University of Hawaii's Windward Community College (2008-2013).
In 2013, Cornelia received Rain Bird's Kolokolea Poetry Prize for her poem, "Speaking French."
In 2016, her chapbook "Hawaiian Time," entered in the National League of American Pen Women's Vinnie Ream contest, was awarded third place in their inaugural multi-discipline category.
View all posts by C. S. De Dona
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