from “Border Bullets” by Norma Cantu
Two babies sorted and taken from skin
like property. Stitched back into
the olden days
harshly across water from hip to hip,
in uneven edges, a scar torn open again
and again and made new
each time
the edges were torn, open ripped
and away, like land lost
or a life taken.
Falling down the banks, her children
disappeared when she was
laid out on her back,
spaced between on passages of the
sweat sheets for longer
than necessary.
It was economical and virtually complete
her journey from woman to possible
and then made equal
all was wide and lost into everything
all knowledge that was clear
and frank-necessary.
As if she were for now, both
boundless and brief,
like bullets.
Millicent Borges Accardi, a Portuguese-American writer, is the author of two poetry books, most recently Only More So (Salmon Poetry). Her awards include fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA), Fulbright, CantoMundo, the California Arts Council, Yaddo, Fundação Luso-Americana, and Barbara Deming Foundation. She lives in Topanga, California, and has degrees in writing from CSULB and USC.