G.P. HENDRYforD. DEBELLA

QUARTERLYPORTFOLIOno. 2

TrespassGina Hendry

The faded yellow sign that says “NO TRESPASSING” at the edge of

the meadow, I trespassed. I walked across the whole thing, even over barbed wire. I built a bridge with stolen lumber. I ripped the sign off the tree on my way out, too.

And I’ll do whatever it takes to get into another one down the street, when you pass the highway. There’s a run-down old building that looks like it might have been part of a farm. I always imagine a bunch of chickens in it. The windows are smashed and I could easily crawl in. Maybe leave my blood there. I’ll take that sign, too.

I let others do the same. Stubborn milkweed that grows in my cozy terra cotta pots trespass. Leaks drip in my plaster ceiling trespass. Light that comes through cracks in the curtains trespass.

I think and hope that maybe someday there will be no such thing as trespassing, the word will cease to exist, and everything will be everywhere.