Training
My Teacher said I must learn to defend my left side;
my weak side is soft and generous, bruises easily with pride.
My right arm is strong, ulna and radius reinforced with
titanium plates and screws, bonding bone to bone.
My fist forms in defense and flashes up to cover my eyes.
In response, a quick round-kick to my left elbow stuns
me to the ground, transfixed by acute pain in guise.
I have become soft to a sharp kick, a reflex delayed.
In the dullness of training, the soreness of practice
the Master said, "This is an exhibition. Trust me."
In the moment of trial, I forgot this instruction and
stood not still, reacting to an impulse of fear.
The coming blow puts in the path of my Master
my weak elbow, now black and blue. His hand
reaches to pull me up, my right arm strong in his.
Helps me to my feet, he says, "Next time trust me."
Copyright © Daisy Goodman | Year Posted 2013
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