Victoria Elizabeth Ruwi
This Fence is Not Yet a Wall
Conch shells bellow,
welcome watchers
along the San Diego/
Mexican border. Seagulls
land atop fence protruding
into the ocean, listen, fly
freely on either side. Temple
gongs eclipse suspended
cymbals’ clisp-clam, rain sticks
shimmy; maracas, castanets,
vuvuzelas, interplay with border
crossing waves. We, the audience
pied piper into the reverb, hear
musicians on both sides, see
listeners stepping from Playa
de Tijuana toward the fence.
Cranked air raid sirens shriek
amid chimes. We, the ensemble,
walk into the music, barred
by steel barriers tucked in
between barrios. Sweetly
piccolos play with glockenspiels
in concert finale, then silence
before applause. Musicians
abandon instruments, mutually
turn, stand on each side of
dense metal mesh fence, touch
the only flesh touchable: fingertips.
This Fence is Not Yet a Wall
Conch shells bellow,
welcome watchers
along the San Diego/
Mexican border. Seagulls
land atop fence protruding
into the ocean, listen, fly
freely on either side. Temple
gongs eclipse suspended
cymbals’ clisp-clam, rain sticks
shimmy; maracas, castanets,
vuvuzelas, interplay with border
crossing waves. We, the audience
pied piper into the reverb, hear
musicians on both sides, see
listeners stepping from Playa
de Tijuana toward the fence.
Cranked air raid sirens shriek
amid chimes. We, the ensemble,
walk into the music, barred
by steel barriers tucked in
between barrios. Sweetly
piccolos play with glockenspiels
in concert finale, then silence
before applause. Musicians
abandon instruments, mutually
turn, stand on each side of
dense metal mesh fence, touch
the only flesh touchable: fingertips.
Victoria Elizabeth Ruwi is the author of Eye Whispers, a book of poetry. She earned a MFA in Creative Writing from San Diego State University. Her poetry has been published in journals and anthologies all over the states.