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STAR WARS: EPISODE ONE 
by Luisa Igloria 

In the summer of tales 
set in disatant galaxies,worlds 

link themselves elaborately to ours 
the way ceremonial garments 

pile their silk in layers next 
to the naked body---purple and rose, 

alternating with hyacinth and gold; 
the way heavy plalaits of hair braid 

with the sash,darkening at the back 
like a waterfall. The face,carefully 

prepared,rises like a disc of ivory 
above its normal collar. Two blood red spots 

balance each other, in the center of each 
cheek. The lips drown as a hybrid bloom: 

a kind of calligraphy for fullness 
and trembling imperfection---As if 

in reminder of the rust that anoints bladed 
weapons laid in pairs upon the table,broken 

propeller parts,the long dismantled torso 
of a machine changing into different matter. 

How ols the sand is, its colors shifting 
always from tawny beige to honey 

and then to bone,over which the child has flown 
his ship to victory, over which now flies 

ahead of him the story of the father 
he will become. Around his shoulders, the hand- 

maiden shapes a cowl out of a blanket. 
Beating under their skinned robes,this too has yet 

no name. In the summer, we want to remove 
our clothing, slip into the cooling waters of the stream. 

It has not yet become that season 
when the heart could choose the don 

its darker armor. In the meantime, 
the heart gives without calculating, 

risking all---even the smooth pelt of these 
golden days, so far unmarked by shadow.