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Family Reunion
OWEN ELPHICK
The afternoon sun falls across the whole family,
crowded along the deck like crows, peering down,
and lining the driveway as I prepare to fight
my uncle. He pulls a pair of rust-licked foils
he found at some junk store from his truck,
excited as I’ve ever seen him. This bout
was his idea. He is going to lose, but
he doesn’t know that yet. I strap on
my pale plastron, slide into a white jacket,
and, as always at these functions, I wear
a mask, blinking behind the black film of mesh,
watching him bounce about, boyish but twice
my size, unprotected but for his own dented helmet,
his arms bare and exposed. My uncle, Patriots
disciple and patriot, lover of God
and this violent country. We may never
truly know each other. I have never been brave enough
to stand up to him, do not want to hurt him today
—just beat him, make him see me
for who I am. I face him and salute, lower
into en garde, feel every eye on me. I breathe, wait
for his attack, which comes almost immediately,
unwieldy and predictable. I parry, metal clattering
like my anger. He slashes when he should thrust,
and I realize he does not really know how to fence
—just how to swing a sword. He hoards weapons,
loves the possibility of their power, but he has not
ISSUE 4 | SUMMER 2021