A Kind of Ferocity
There are three young men playing with broadswords, fighting knives, two-headed axes and long bamboo sticks. They twirl and wield like drum majorettes below my writing studio on a triangle of grass in the park plaza. Two of the three are dead serious—shirts off, heavy studded belts and strips of leather like loincloths, one has a mask that covers part of his face and a ratty red goatee. The other has long dyed hair with bright crimson rivulets shining in the midday sun. The third doesn’t quite fit. He’s wearing blue jeans, a faded black t-shirt and has close-cropped blonde hair. He’s the one who keeps offering snacks to the other warriors.
2/21/2015 10:05:30 pm
Oh Sarah! I didn't know you were going through this. What can I do for you, dear one? I want to be a beam of light! I love how you think, Ms Pape...seeing seeing sweating geeks but SEEING creativity and strength and the power in choosing who to be. Love it!
2/22/2015 01:53:38 am
Your heart is a strong & courageous muscle, & I love hearing its song in the concert of all that you are.
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Poet, essayist, teacher, editor, mother and spouse.