Micah
For a moment I was on trial
and I looked at my three judges
with something not of contempt exactly
but more of curiosity distance but respect
even something of pity which surprised me
for those who held my future in their hands
as if it were a bottle and they were shaking it
with the thumb on the lid the way you do
with Hire’s root beer or RC Cola,
the one a colonel of sorts and the other two of
lesser rank I’d say a major and
something even lesser probably a captain
and nothing there of Oliver Wendell Holmes
or Benjamin Cordoza or Thurgood Marshall
and though I was 21 and hardly schooled
in Micah on the one hand or legal wrath
on the other I by nature
hated hierarchy and privilege
and pomposity and hated
saluting and marching in every kind of formation
especially “parade rest,” I hated “parade rest”
and it was a full year later I first read Kafka
so I knew nothing of his Trial nor did I know
the teachings of this prophet from that
but I already knew Micah before I knew it was Micah
and my estrangement was compounded by ignorance
which freed me everywhere I went
and after two days when I was liberated
my instinct was to kiss the three judges
but I was instructed to make peace with
my prosecutor and it was only a few days
after I “formally” learned of the connections
between justice and mercy and though
I didn’t walk humble before anyone
I treated trees with kindness and even—
forgive me—ants and mosquitoes
as an act of gratitude to the captain,
the major and the colonel though I
still longed for Thurgood Marshall as I do
now for Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Elena Kagan.
