On Day Fifteen (which this year happened to be Easter) of National Poetry Month (also known as April), with the month now halfway behind us, the prompt from
NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo
asked us to write a poem on what it means to be in the middle of things.
Here's a quote from the
NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo site on today's theme:
"...write a poem that reflects on the nature of being in the middle of
something. The poem could be about being on a journey and stopping for a
break, or the gap between something half-done and all-done. Half a loaf is supposedly
better than none, but what’s the difference between half of a very large loaf
and all of a very small one? Let your mind wander into the middle distance,
betwixt the beginning of things and the end." NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo site on today's theme:
My poem is titled by the Latin phrase meaning "in the middle of things":
In Medias Res
Nick made it home just in time to meet the Easter Bunny.
Devils were lurking in the trees. Pamela summoned a special
potion.
Down on Cemetery Lane, the little people were choosing
between fortune and fame.
When the plague arrived in our district, many of us
recollected old debts we had either forgotten to pay -- or to call in.
On Project Hill people were coming and going with brows
similarly furrowed.
The story began small, dithered at the first turn, lunged
forward unexpectedly, then retraced its steps.
The intermezzo...
... the
intermezzo.
Behind the curtain the leading lady, larger than life, paced
back and forth, glaring at anyone who came too near. She's always like this,
her handler remarked quietly, when she's about to swallow a snake.
I'm not looking for lukewarm praise, the artist said.
Ordinary expressions of pleasure will do fine.
Fear crept into the town, like a disappointed lover with a
score to settle.
We have to stop meeting like this, Lila said, resting her
back on a tombstone.
Pamela waited. It was her last trick. Would it work?
It was not the Easter Bunny. And it was too late to close
the door.
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