
Beneath a Trespass of Sorrow (Poem by Margaret Randall, Maps by Barbara Byers)
the skin of the earth is seamless
—Gloria Anzaldúa
1From Mercatur and Gall-Peters projectionsto the mapus mundi of seafaring explorers,atlases showing oil, water or CIAdesignations, we have become our maps.Once mountains established borders, onceRome was the world. When a travelerbreached the narrow cleft of rockopening to Petra’s plat of tombsor a canyon alcove defined the limits ofAncestral Puebloan life, whobelonged and who was kept out?Whose branch traced a map in wet earth?From their power, cartographersplace borders out of reach,crowd inhabitants closeas if playing a parlor game.With big guns or quieter betrayalmap making’s omnipotencepummels its angry linesthrough memory. . .