A petty thing,
a little line
between yours and mine,
that can sting,
a nicking mark
seeping such blood
as to bring the flood
for the ark;
to cut in twain
and drown the earth
beneath frothy surf
and the pain.
What can I say
of this red line?
The scar will define
what it may
and what we are
as we carve space
out of time and place,
near and far,
dividing life,
dissecting earth,
knowing well the worth
of a knife,
and of a pen,
of the red ink
which makes us all think
we are men.
For we worship
law and order,
border to border,
and we drip
from cuts we draw
along our skin
to demarcate kin,
tribal law.

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