Detachment

Each time I step onto the strip

Another bit falls off

 

A tip, a spring, a screw

A clip

 

These at least I can address through armory

Tighten, fiddle, nudge

Swap out parts

Rewire blades

 

The biologic fails are less benign

A toenail, split, takes years to properly regrow

A tendon flexes just a bit too far

A muscle disconnects

 

I suppose the wonder is that 

Decades on

So many of these parts

Still work  

 

The only way to cope is to accept

Impermanence 

Of blade, bone, wires and longevity

 

Meanwhile, I appreciate the

Blessing

That they work at all

Mind the Gap

 In lessons…

Beauty

Small tight parry

Clean riposte

Point dead on

Distance always right

 

Try to port it to the strip and 

All these moves are

Bigger, slower

Sloppy or awry

Too far too close too little or too much

 

Dragging one new thing across this chasm takes 

Grim determination

A willingness to tank and flail and miss

Look foolish and inept

Time and time again until…

Once, it lands just right

Followed by another dozen failures 

Then twice, and twice again until 

Consistency 

 

In practice bouts, at least…

A whole new fissure yawns between 

the club and competition

 

A GPS to navigate this rift:

Bundle up your courage

Breathe deep and

Make a leap of faith

 

Microcosm

The salle is full of little needs

A bit of tape

A dab of glue

A Band-Aid on your thumb

 

A wavy blade to coax into a placid curve

 

A patch upon the dead spot on your chest

 

Words of praise or sympathy 

 

Baked treats 

 

I wish that through some sympathetic magic

These small acts could

Mend the world

 

Perhaps, by multiplying microsomic kindness

We can do just that

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

Some Nights

Everything feels 

Just a little off 

My glove’s too tight 

Your shoes have an annoying squeak 

Sweat trickles down my neck 

My shoulders itch 

When the parry’s firm, the riposte flails 

My attack may open up a door and yet 

I miss and run into the wall 

Of your defense 

Even the best finish lands a 

Quarter inch from the lame 

Or sliding underneath 

Nights like this 

Victory’s no longer parsed in 

Bouts, but in a measure of 

Compassion for 

Myself 

Forgiveness for my 

Imperfections 

Patience for my flaws 

The hardest practice yet: 

Extending to myself the kindness 

That I offer others without thought

A Touch

Can be an accident a 

Fluke of fate a 

Side effect of 

Flailing blade 

A cheap and easy shot 

A crutch 

A sleazy shot that 

Almost shouldn’t count 

(Almost) 

A fertile seed containing 

Replicable DNA 

A template for 

Future success 

A victory a 

Trusted tool, the 

Hard-won culmination of

A patient plan 

A jolt of serotonin that will 

Keep me coming back 

Even when it lands

Just one time out of ten

Armory (2)

Bits fall off 

A tip velociting across the salle 

Spring in jubilant pursuit 

A clip that decompiles in the very 

Middle of the bout 

Tape shreds 

Wires break 

Screws split 

Set aside this injured weaponry awaits 

A therapeutic touch 

At least these mechanical defects 

Can be repaired 

MY bits deconstruct almost as often 

Shedding parts and 

Shredding key connections 

Torn and bent and stretched too far to 

Rebound 

Technically these biologic parts 

Might heal on their own 

But even odds they’re simply settled in an 

Altered state 

Demanding adaptation 

Is it any wonder that I want the best of both?

Snap-on parts that interchange 

With just a bit of fiddling and force 

The ease of healing that will come with time 

Regardless of attention 

Let’s try it out— One blade left in the bag (don’t peek!) 

For seven weeks to see if it will heal 

One finger sternly told to snap in place and 

Hold the line 

Yeah,  I’ll tell you how that goes

Provisional

The shoulder tweaks, 

Triggering the drill: 

Roll & stretch & soak & rest 

Pamper ‘til its wheedled to perform 

Only to find the instability has leapt 

Like checkers, over back and hip to 

Settle in the knee 

Fencing at this age is like a game of dominos 

Or like applying plastic film--one sly burp of air 

Always remains 

No matter the massage 

Squidging to another spot 

Never truly 

Gone 

 Knowing this migration 

 Always in the back of mind a 

 Modicum of doubt 

That tweak…a momentary pinge or 

Foreshadow of a systematic fail? 

One bad night or 

The first step In yet another years-long slog of rehabilitation? 

For all my decades this is what I’ve learned 

We’re never really well 

Or cured 

Or permanently fixed 

The best we can attain is “functional for now” 

Probationary health 

And so my current goal: 

To redefine heroic 

And cultivate a reservoir of 

Kindness to myself 

There's ample room for fellowship 

Perhaps you'd like to join the quest?

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

Absence of Blade

I miss… 

Calluses 

The gnarly evidence of repetition 

Contusions 

A chromographic record of encounters 

Chaos 

The slop and tangle of uniform and gear 

The fertile mess of armory 

But most of all 

Camaraderie 

The shout and bustle of the salle 

Loving rivalry and sweaty hugs 

One would think the trade-off’s not so bad: 

My joints heal, I bank sleep, mend and wire 

Heck, I haven’t lost a bout since spring 

Nonetheless, I find I’d rather have 

Rough edges, bumps and bruises 

Minor injuries, fatigue 

Some scraps and wrangles 

That being so, 

When opportunity presents 

I know I will reach out and 

Take the blade again