Pleasing Friction - March 19 2022

 

Pleasing Friction

March 19 2022

According to economists

the margins

are where the action is.

A dollar, more or less

and the curve bends

the balance shifts.

To sociologists

this is where life gets thin

and existence a struggle.

And historians

see tipping points, and hinge events;

when the world tilts

the sun dims

luck runs out.

A despot over-stepping,

foreign hordes invading,

seasonal rains that fail

or turn to flood.

I write,

so to me, a margin is a blank,

as much an empty space

as a potential one.

A place for the eye to rest;

balancing the page

in an aesthetically pleasing way,

ruling

with straight-edged certainty.

And an open place

inviting clever marginalia;

as if the text

was merely the start of a conversation,

and all along

the author had been eagerly awaiting

your inspired response.

Margins

are where things rub up against each other.

Either the pleasing friction

of unalike things,

the attraction of opposites;

or the bristling discomfort

of the alien and unknown.

I feel that over time

mine have hardened.

What was once an undefended border

marked by a few cairns of found rocks

or a small bronze plaque

set in overgrown ground,

is now fortified

and impregnable.

Heavily armed men

patrol my perimeter.

At night

high intensity lights

blind the curious

and unsuspecting.

There will be no miscegenation here,

no challenges

to my certainties.

No tentative step

into the no-man's land

outside my boundaries.

Trespassers, be warned,

the border is closed:

only our own

have permission to enter.