Stuck in the Middle with Me

This poem is part of the Claritas fall 2024 issue, Margins. Read the full print release here.

After most turn right or left,
few are left on turning.
The resolved think they’re right,

and few are deft in learning.

They hurriedly decide
and file into flocks.
Crushing patience, clutching pride,

and fleeing paradox.

I watch them build around their views

four ramparts stone and mortar:
A fortress fastened without bridges;

no need for gate or porter.

From ill-positioned castles, their words

like cannons riddle
me, as I pose a riddle differently—

from the

margin

in the middle:

Beware of biting spears and arrows,

and tongues as sharp as swords
that worship knowledge and ideals,

and crown their minds as lords.

For they lead to empty middles,

void of humble ponderers
since crossfire is the brutal
cost for unlost wanderers.

So pity the pitted cherry,

whose middle has withdrawn,

whose sides are red in anger

just for the fifty-one.