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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