Best wishes

I want for you 

The best 

of health 

The palimpsest of injury wiped clean 

Humors balanced 

Wind sound 

Internal leys of energy aligned 

of spirit 

Hooks of doubt untangled from the mind 

Cessation and acceptance 

Inner peace 

Whatever faith might ground you in this world 

of life 

Success in your endeavors 

Fulfilling work 

An amplitude of joy 

A minimum of idiots who drag you down 

and for your blade 

A swift and sure attack 

Impermeable parry 

Wicked riposte 

Against all opponents, 

And yet (forgive me), when we step on to the piste 

I want to 

Crumple your defense 

Spike your attack 

Confound your strategy and 

Drive my offense home 

Afterwards, 

Outcome aside 

We hug 

Ok? 

And resume our sincere and mutual regard

Recover Forward

Our bags are chronographic capsules 

Disgorging fragmentary evidence of 

Times Before 

Uniforms that zip with 

Some protest 

Blades touched with rust 

An ouroboric tanglement of cords 

We ourselves are travelers 

Cast into future times 

Familiar venues fraught with 

Unfamiliar norms 

Cautiously we re-emerge 

Greeting fellow chrononauts 

Assessing what is welcome 

A little bow, an elbow bump 

Gripping hands or 

Going for the full-on hug 

Despite uncertainty 

This new epoch 

Offers reassurance: 

 Strangers smizing over masks 

 Abundant courtesy 

A plenitude of kindness 

One big change: the terms of this engagement 

The metrics of success 

Victory is being here, today 

With all of you 

 Salute

Halt

Stop the action

Freeze frame

Put everything on pause

Unmask

Let the blade fall

Turn and catch your breath while

Someone who’s supposed to be in 

Charge attempts to

Parse the action

Map what the hell just

Happened here and

Make the call

Don’t look at me, I’m

As mystified as you...

As all who spectate in this 

Strange exchange

However, I suspect that

It may be some time before 

We’re placed back en garde

Faith, Part 2

At the break

Beset, behind and 

Not sure what to do

You hand me water and your 

Best advice

Gnomic utterances 

Seemingly divorced from

What just happened on the piste

“Keep distance about one foot farther out”

“Weight on your back hip”

“Get in close and bounce”

Never clear directions for the touch

Nothing so distinct as “parry circle six riposte” or

“attack to her flank”

I see absolutely no path forward

Doing what you say

It’s about as promising as “run into that wall!” or

“Pet the cat!”

Or simply

“42!”

But being out of options I 

Shrug off doubt

Abandon rationality and

Try exactly what you say

And score the touch

To your delight

Offset by rue that

I look so surprised

Faith

It’s humbling to realize that

More than half the time I

Don’t know what I did

That is to say, I know I

Held the blade and

Not my breath

Kept the tension in my legs and

Not my arm

But in between “allez” and “halt” occurs

A sequence of events I

Can’t unpack

Evidently

I did good

The light came on the

Hand flashed up 

Awarding me the touch

I’m just saying (full disclosure)

What happened in between is 

Something of a mystery

I can live with that

In my dreams when

I take flight 

The most important thing is not to 

Wonder how

Lest doubt rescind my wings

Broken Time

After warming up

Awaiting referees

Pool sheet being signed

A lull before the storm

Quarter finals done

The long, fraught wait before 

Ascending to the elevated strip

And briefer still:

Staring at the weight and willing it to rise

Pausing while my opponent adjusts her hair

Idling ‘round the podium, awaiting bling

(and craving lunch)

Fragmented time adrift from work or home or news

A temporal dimension safe from everyday demands 

Interstitial moments that define the competition

Just as much as fighting for the touch

B-holding

I thought that when I leveled up
It would come because I'd gotten
Stronger
     Faster
          Wiser
               Better
Metamorphed into a higher state

But no, I checked--
I'm still only me

Ten toes, two feet
Nine knuckles and a
Fragile back
All essential traits are still intact:
Small
     Fierce
          Stubborn
Forever not too bright

If anything, grace came because of
What I lacked: concern for anything but
Getting through the day

Wait Test

Picking at the tape that’s

Fraying on the barrel of my blade

Tying and retying shoes

Resisting the compulsion to

Check Twitter, Facebook

Mail

Studying the divots of attack

Marbling the walls and floor

Netting flotsamed conversation

Washing through the hall

“…the worst thing you can do is

smile at the ref…”

“Stepping on the blade is cardable…I’m right?!?”

“…said Dude! You can’t put that in your mask…”

Trying very hard

Not to watch the newbies lurch and flail

Nor the long and lean and strong march stalking down the strip

Lest the images entangle in my hand, and blade

Trying simply to inhabit this

Lacuna in space and time

Between the flighted pools

Where I’m known only by the pseudonym on my lamé

When I have nothing I can do but

Wait

Appreciating boredom is a veteran’s grace

Round of 8

Turning in a slip and getting back

--Rather than another assignation--

A half sheet and a pencil

An invitation to reflect

• Where I’m from
• How long the journey to this point
• Who coaxed me along

And then the kicker:

“Best results so far”

(A query guaranteed to

Throw me off my game)

First of all, what’s “best?”

First in a cozy local competition, with little to contest?

Dead last in Div IA—a newly minted C, abashed, astounded that

I even dared to try?

The “Friend of Fencing” medal awarded by my college coach (himself a living legend in the sport)?

My growing list of thirds from facing these same friends and foes?

I want to say “Today. Today exceeds the rest.”

Maybe by the time you read this slip

I’ve triumphed three more times

Maybe even now I’m

Clutching gold, or

At least, have trod the finals strip

In any case, why ask?

What’s past is past

The last thing I need now

Is to be snagged by expectations

Amped up by ambition to excel

I need to pee

I need to check my blades

I need to

Breathe and take a moment to reflect

So sure, whatever, scribble in some dates and places

Maybe get it right

And if it’s slightly off, remember that my thoughts are not on

Autobiographic stats

My focus is on

Scripting future fictions

Hoping they come true

Lost…& Found

My breath

Which fled the moment that I went on guard

My equanimity

Which seems to need some oxygen to thrive

Several touches

Due to the above

Plan B

Premised on a tempo fully half my normal speed

Delight

In finding youth can be beguiled by deliberate pace

My knickers

Which, turns out, were in the bottom of my bag