My laser sword is thin
Whiplike
I wield it expertly:
Right hand on top
Left curled below
Angled back and left
A defensive posture
Meant to ward away the blow
That may come at any moment
From the choking crush of foliage
Along the river’s bank
These ancient trunks are thick
With tall, wide roots that snake across the sandy soil
Big as fallen trees themselves
The path is narrow
Overgrown
I chop the blade into a frond
Leaves fall, sparking
But the branch holds strong
What mysterious wood is this
To resist my glowing blade?
Strange plants grow here
Odd leaves and dangling red fruits
The color of the Dark Side
Below, the water rages
Over rocks and fallen logs
Whirlpools and eddies
Hiss an invitation
“Come see our secrets, boy”
But I am focused on the path
Deep between a pair of roots
Splayed out in a V
A footprint, just a single track
Enough to raise my hackles
And when the blow comes
I am ready
Barely, ready
The foe’s blade crashes into my own
The clamor rings above the water’s roar
And I step back
The crimson switch finishes its arc
Deflected to a gnarled root
(Fair exchange for my throat, I think
Although the tree might disagree)
It sizzles and sparks
As I raise my own blade
Curving up
A hair’s breadth from the chin
The enemy jumps back
And spins
I follow, and our blades connect
Again, again, still again
Neither landing upon skin
But I press my advantage
Then, betrayal!
A mossy stone
Sodden and slick
Proves a poor foothold
And only instinct saves me
I fall
My blade snaps up
Enough to slow the executioner’s blow
(Slow, not stop)
I feel: an icy-hot shock in my left leg
I smell: the acrid scent of singed flesh
The pain? Exquisite
But I have no time for suffering
My life in the balance
Above raging rapids
Beneath a glowing blade
Already raised
With such malice, such seething hate
To split my very soul asunder
The black-clad adversary? Quick
But, even wounded, I am quicker
I dance away on tiptoes
Floating lightly above the tangled undergrowth
I flick my blade like a conductor
One beat ahead of death
Drawing in the raging bull
Closer, closer still
Back, back
Sideways
Onto the flat-worn promontory of a log
The swirl of water all around and below
From here, I’ll turn the tide
Stretching back, I seek some purchase
An anchor point from which to strike
Now, my error’s clear:
My foot finds only empty space
Too far, too far
I’ve led my foe
And now there’s nothing left
On which to make my stand
A desperate tack!
I leap forward
Off-balance, into the air
Sword raised in both hands
I cry a warrior’s cry
As I bring my blade to bear with all my might
The water foams and fumes
Both feet slam onto the fallen log
My blade descends
And then—
“Anthony, you’re scaring the fish!”
I hear my father’s voice
Raised, short of shouting
Unequivocally annoyed
“Come on over this way”
He says
“I can see a couple bluegills”
“Ok” I say
Without enthusiasm
I walk across the log
Fishing rod held limply in one hand
No longer aglow
Just a stick
A stick with string attached
They call it “fishing”
Not “catching”
My father joked
Which is how this day is going
“I bet Luke Skywalker
Never had to go fishing
With his dad”
I mumble
“Let me help you bait the hook”
Dad says
(Darth Vader wouldn’t use a rod
He’d use the Force
To choke the fish)
But at least my Dad
Has never blown up an X-Wing
Or killed a bunch of Jedi
(As far as I know)
And so I let him train me
In the ways of drowning worms
I stand again before the stream
Close my eyes
Reach out with my feelings
And cast the baited trap
Into the murky depths
Who knows what foes
May lurk beneath
Perhaps the swirling dark side water
Conceals adventures, still
