Keep distance, the fencing teacher says,
and by this he means, stay close enough
to your opponent that you could, at any time,
extend, lunge and attack with your point.
All my life, I’ve tried not to keep distance.
All my life, I’ve done my best to avoid
the attack—from either side. And now,
with my silver lamé and my one white glove
and my face safe behind metal mesh, I dig
to find the part of me who craves engagement,
who seeks a bout, who wants to threaten
my target and exploit their vulnerability.
Keep distance, he says, and I understand
that this is how I show up for the game.
This is how I meet not only the opponent,
but, perhaps for the first time, myself.
I love this.
interesting struggle!
(I’m still having trouble with the transition from he/she to they, and here in your poem from her/his to theirs. I considered “target” as impersonal (it’s), but that doesn’t say what you want. I may just have to swallow my long-standing inner “rules”!)
Go get ’em, Rosemerry!
yeah, that’s a toughie. You know I appreciate you helping me stick to the rules, Carol!! As for the “go get ’em,” well, let’s just say I am still learning what it means to show up. xo