Chess

This was my father’s chessboard.

It isn’t all I have left of him:

I have a vase with sand and shells from the ruins

of the castle I built to return him to the ocean, in front of his favorite lighthouse,

and I’ll never lose his voice, but this board has become my processing place

where I find structure and truth,

honest strategy, one army against another,

powerful pieces behind a row of protective pawns,

moves methodical and planned.

Sacrifice is expected, necessary,

yielding returns:

losing a pawn to take a bishop

is not losing.

White advances

Black defends

Rules are followed: no rook diagonals, no backward-moving pawns, no threatening a king without calling

“Check,”

and when there’s no path to victory,

when you just don’t have the energy

for yet another losing battle,

surrounded by the enemy,

you may topple your king

and stop the game,

return to white,

and try again,

every piece intact.