Things flying around my big head, lights, flickers
unmentionable things, undeterminable things.
How did this start?
This route, the beginning? The end?

“See here,” a thought happens.
I am a daughter,
and a person of the middle.
I was born in the middle.
I’ve always lived in the middle.
“See there,” I hear now.

Us middlings, not given things,
We work for things.
We acquire middle things
and middle mates and middlenesses of all kinds.

Middlings start from the middle
and move outward and upward
and toward the North to mate with other middlings
and build mansions of straw or bricks or middle things,
groping the way to the middle.

“See where,” now all in view.