i
Learn to inhabit your body,
try—tai chi, yoga, meditation—anything
that trains you to move beyond fear,
to stitch together mind-body connections.
ii
Begin with small items: drum stick,
wooden spoon, candle. With these you must
dismantle the gag reflex, learn to tuck in your chin,
align your mouth and esophagus with your spine.
iii
Bend a coat hanger to the shape of a sword.
Coat it with oil. Go slow. Now you will
plough through your throat, keep
involuntary muscles in check, enter
iv
the red zone, a channel down
beside your lungs, the in-and-out of air,
the smell now of burnt feathers, of steel.
Remember the last time you
v
kissed someone, eyes closed, your heart
a flutter of leaves. The sword must be dull,
must have a guard to keep it from entering
too far. It’s important not to slip
vi
into the past, to try to fix all the rags
and roots of your misery. Eat a full meal or
drink water to stretch your stomach if
you intend to use a long blade.
vii
You must be serene on the stage,
let panic live in the blade, but remain
still. The sound of the audience will carry you
like a ship to the center of your storm.
Judy Kaber is the author of three chapbooks, most recently A Pandemic Alphabet. Her poems have appeared in journals such as Poet Lore, december, Hunger Mountain, and Spillway. She is currently working on a series of poems based on the art of Lois Dodd. Judy won the 2021 Maine Poetry Contest and was a finalist for a 2022 Maine Literary Award. She is a past poet laureate of Belfast, Maine.
