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Issue 1: Queering Across Borders


Port Authority

By Resi Polixa          June 10, 2019

// there’s something about that bus terminal. //


I wonder about those people there,

at Port Authority.


You know the people I’m talking about -

the ones who are always there.


They have their tickets,

they’re ready to go.

no, going.


they’re not waiting - their feet

are already out the door -


but they are always there.


I wonder.

I wonder where they are going -

if they’re going home.


I wonder where home is,

since they never leave this bus station.


I wonder

if those people are really


all white.

Or if that is a mere accident?

Unintentional coincidence

of the sculptor’s material?


You know those people I’m talking about -

The Commuters.1


always stationed

in the ticket lobby

for the buses bound for Jersey.


Maybe they’re like me -

white plastered exterior,

but cast in bronze //

true colors



I also wonder

how they are always moving,

en route

to someplace else -

and yet,

standing still,





passing through

through this door


And how many doors have I passed through here? //

there’s something about

that bus terminal //


always on my own ways

to get home…


even though

home is a moving target


home is

having each foot

on opposite sides

of a fault line


home is

always passing through


revolving doors, through


this bus terminal //


there’s something about

that bus terminal


because I’m always here too //

something always brings me back



always on my way

to someplace else —


home is being

in transit


sitting uneasily on a fault line,

on borders between continents

on boundaries between binaries


wanting so badly to not be locked in closets

fighting my way out everyday

my foot out the door,


the threshold, the border, the dividing line:




pushing back against, out of this

hard white plaster, covering

bronze casting.

sculptor’s mistake.


home is

always always crossing that threshold,

being the first person in line …


I was born to run, you know.

and not just through train stations at rush hour, either.


these commuters are bound for New Jersey

and I was bound to leave. //

you ever think about how much time is spent

running after

your way out

of someplace?


I was born under Sagittarius //

(the sign of commuters and movers)


so it was written in the stars,

this Bruce Springsteen prophecy:

blood doesn’t run in my veins

but my veins are the map of my body, my history

how my mother immigrated from the Philippines

and I left New Jersey to continue that legacy


because lines and borders are something I feel

very viscerally:

moving and


all coded in me,



to be






in // between // places //

destinations // The Commuters,




movement —

they are the company I keep.


They’re not going anywhere,

but they go everywhere with me //


there’s something about

this bus terminal.

Resi Polixa is a queer Filipinx public historian, writer, and community storyteller based out of Lowell, MA. They are the founder of the LGBTQ+ Lowell Open Mic series, and are a firm believer in the power of storytelling to change the world. They have been published by bklyn boihood in Outside the XY: Queer Black and Brown Masculinity, and will soon be published in LOAM magazine. They are an alum of the Public Humanities MA program at Brown, and when not writing, enjoy exploring the mysteries of tarot and experiencing the outdoors. You can follow them on Instagram @resi_ibanez and @sideeye.historian .