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A year or so ago, I had an idea that I was going to write a whole sequence of poems (maybe a book) based on the Star Wars universe. I may return to the project one day, although I'm not sure how much Disney or George Lucas would appreciate it. Not much money in poetry.
For tonight, however, in honor of Carrie Fisher, I present a poem written a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away . . .
by: Martin Achatz
Yoda sends Luke into that place
of swamp and root and snake,
a test to see if he can face
truth, stare it down without
wanting to saw it in half
with light. Sometimes darkness
breathes like a volcano, looks
like your father, wrecked
by loss. What force can keep
a man moving when the woman
he’s loved for 62 years can’t
remember the song they danced
to on their wedding day?
He rises at 2 a.m., clamps on a mask,
searches the galaxies
for rebel moons and ice planets,
outposts where memories hole
up to fight a losing battle.
Luke fails his test, lets
himself be pulled into
the gravity of his dad’s collapsing
star. There is not noise when love
dies. It just slips away, winks
out, its final light reaching you
years after it’s gone.
Please vote for Saint Marty:
Voting for next Poet Laureate of the U. P.
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