The Slow-Cooked Sentence

Mixing metaphors this morning

Rachael Conlin Levy

It was not yet seven, and Ivan took a running leap and landed on my bed where I was writing.

“Can we play Star Wars?” he asked. I nodded.¬†“You are the queen and I am the guard,” he said, establishing himself against the wall,¬†poised to strike with his light saber made of stick and orange duct tape at whomever entered the room.

“Go on,” he said. “Write.”

I picked up the pen to begin.

“Pretend you are the queen and your room is a gym,” he said, and turned his light saber parallel to the floor, lifting and lowering it like a barbell. “Tell me to do some squats.”

“Do some squats.”

“Now what?”

“I don’t know. Remember, I’m the queen who wants to write. You’ve got to ask a gym Jedi.”

“Right,” he said, and wandered out of the room.

Minutes later I heard the thin click of high heels on wood floor and his older sister’s yells. In my home, the sword is mightier than the pen.

4 responses to “Mixing metaphors this morning”

  1. I have the feeling this queen will always write. Those sword moments are fleeting and should be savored.

  2. Kyna says:

    Is Ivan pretending to play a computer game in that photo?

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