Permeable
by KM Kramer
Only 10,000 monarch butterflies are left. All citrus can be traced to just three species: mandarins, pomelos, and citron. It cost $4.3 million dollars to prevent the spread of a single Ebola case in Manhattan. Fences are fictions. Have you ever wondered whether water is waterproof? Test it with drops of dye into a water glass. A moat is magical thinking between you and me. The line between victor and vanquished is permeable. Water like light finds its way through the cracks.
There’s something quietly haunting in how this poem moves from hard facts to soft, unsettling questions.
The disappearing monarchs and the fragile origins of citrus feel like reminders of how delicate everything really is.
The Ebola statistic hits like a jolt how much effort it takes just to keep disaster from spilling over.
I love the line “fences are fictions”; it captures how the boundaries we trust are mostly stories we tell ourselves.
The question about whether water is waterproof is so simple it almost feels like a trick, but it opens up the whole poem.
The dye spreading in a glass becomes this tiny metaphor for how nothing stays contained.
The moat between “you and me” feels painfully human that illusion of separation we cling to even when it’s not real.
The idea that the line between victor and vanquished is permeable feels especially true in a world this unstable.
I love how the poem ends with water and light slipping through cracks, refusing to be stopped.
It leaves you with this quiet sense that everything touches everything, whether we want it to or not.
Thought provoking. ‘Water like / light finds its way’