First Game


United States
46° 32' 44.4984" N, 119° 39' 27.162" W

It was the first game of the season,

Butterflies arose in my stomach 

As I stepped on to the field caked with mud,

The scent of freshly cut grass

Filled the air as did the crowd’s roars


I stepped into the batter’s box,

Sweat builds up

It runs down my forehead,

The pitcher pitches

Her motion seemed as if,

Her arm was dislodged from her body


It was so fast,

But my mind was able to slow it down

The ball came to me


Slowly, slowly

I felt as if I were a statue 

Arms like cement,

Knees like jelly

But I was able to extend my arms


And after that,

All I saw was the big bright blue sky

With clouds rolling by


I flew across the bases,

Wind whipped across my face

Then I saw it…


Home plate,

The catcher’s eyes widen in surprise like a deer’s in a headlight

I knew the ball was coming,

I slid

The muddy undergrounds of the Earth felt cool under my fingertips


I waited,

Heart in my throat

The crowd held their breath and waited anxiously for the call,


“SAFE” called the umpire,

And the crowd erupted into cheers.

This poem is about: 


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